The Story of Nine
by emerald isle
Summary: Post-War Hogwarts AU. Ginny thought sharing a dormitory with Draco Malfoy would be hard, but when a legendary curse waits 3,000 years to target her and eight others . . . she's got bigger problems.
1. Chapter 1: Innocent Son

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. No copyright infringement is intended. This will be true for the rest of the story.

**A/N: **So, this fic is somewhat AU, as you shall soon discover. Some people who died in canon are not dead, &c. However, besides the differences that will become clear as you read, it is safe to assume that the Battle for Hogwarts and everything that came before it follows canon. Enjoy!

**Ch 1: Innocent Son**

Ginny watched with heavy-lidded eyes as the English countryside whirled past the windows of her train. She could hardly believe that she was, once again, riding on the Hogwarts Express—for the last time. It felt both comfortable and strange.

She stuck her hands in her pockets and heard, to her surprise, the faint rustling of paper. After some digging, she pulled out a thin envelope, labeled with the words_ To: Ginny, From: Harry_ (in hastily scribbled black ink).

Ginny's eyes clouded over for a moment as she thought back to that morning, in her bedroom. Harry, standing by her window, the sunlight illuminating his messy black hair so that it stood out like a dark halo around his head, her stomach knotting uncomfortably at the knowledge that he hadn't come to tell her anything except "Goodbye" . . .

Ginny took a deep breath and opened the envelope.

_Dear Ginny,_

_I hope you have a great year at Hogwarts._

_Love__,_

_Harry_

Behind the note, there were two photographs. They were both from Ginny's seventeenth birthday party. The first one showed everyone who had come to dinner that night at the Burrow: Lupin and Tonks, baby Theodore balanced between them, his hair an obnoxious shade of green; George, arm around Angelina, his long, shaggy hair covering the scar where his ear used to be; Percy, standing next to Arthur and Molly, all three of them laughing a little; Ginny in the middle, grinning, with her arm slung over Ron's shoulders; Hermione, holding Ron's hand, and then Harry, smiling shyly; Charlie; Bill, holding Victoire, who was crying, and Fleur on the end, looking exasperatedly happy in the way that only a young mother could look.

Ginny smiled to herself, remembering that night. It had certainly been the happiest evening of the summer. Molly cooked a delicious meal, and everyone sat outside in the warmth of the summer evening, talking and laughing until dusk. Just as Teddy and Victoire had been taken inside and laid down to sleep, Ron started up a game of Quidditch in the dark, and he even managed to convince Hermione and Percy to join in. Everyone in the Weasley family had smiled more in that one evening than Ginny had seen them smile in the past four months, and they weren't just smiling for her because it was her birthday and they had to pretend. They were smiling because they were happy.

Well, most of them, Ginny thought. But then, she wondered if George would smile—really smile—ever again.

Ginny's contentedness disappeared. She moved on to the second photo.

She was surprised to see herself and Harry—she hadn't noticed the photo being taken at the time. The Quidditch game had just ended. Harry had caught the Snitch, of course, but Charlie had given him a good run for his money. Ginny, refusing to admit defeat, had flown over to Harry and tugged him mercilessly to the ground, struggling to wrestle the little snitch from his fingers and laughing the whole time. In the photo, they were both laughing, their hair wild from flying and their party clothes disheveled. Ginny was barefoot, having kicked off her nice shoes to fly.

I don't remember being that happy, Ginny thought. She figured that Harry had probably thought the same thing, and that's why he'd given her the picture.

Standing up in her empty compartment, Ginny stuffed the pictures and the note back in their envelope and placed it in her school bag. Then she rummaged around for her book. Just as she'd settled back down and begun to read, the compartment door opened.

Ginny looked up, a little disappointed, but her disappointment evaporated when she saw the girl entering the compartment.

"Luna!" Ginny cried, throwing aside the book so she could jump up and hug the other girl.

Luna seemed caught off-guard by this sudden show of affection, but after a moment of hesitation, she was hugging Ginny back with equal fierceness.

"Ginny," she said, her voice twinkling. "I'm sorry I missed your birthday party."

Ginny let go of the girl and they both sat down. "It's fine," replied the redhead. "Ron told me that you were in France?"

Luna nodded. "Daddy wanted to get away from England for a while," she said. "You know, after . . . everything."

Ginny managed to keep her face blank. "Everything" could hardly sum up how Xenophilius Lovegood must have felt when Death Eaters kidnapped his daughter. "I understand," said Ginny.

"I'm so glad you're coming back, too!" said Luna. "I haven't seen many people I recognize, but I know that Dean's here—you know, his mum sent him back since he was on the run for most of last year—and Neville, too."

"Neville?" Ginny cried. "But he had school last year . . . "

"As if that counts," said Luna. "We didn't learn much, except how to be dark wizards, or how to get tortured by dark wizards, depending on which house you were in. But anyway, he's not here for school."

Ginny looked confused. "So he's teaching, or what?"

Luna nodded. "Herbology. He's going to be apprentice to Professor Sprout so he can replace her when she retires. He's got the first and second years."

"Wow. Good for him!" said Ginny. "Anyone else?"

Luns shrugged. "I think I saw Dennis Creevey . . . " Her voice trailed off. Luna was thinking about Colin. Ginny started to think about Colin, but her thoughts wandered, because whenever she thought about that battle, she remembered—

"Oh," Luna added, interrupting Ginny's thoughts. "I forgot. I also saw Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini."

"What?" said Ginny. "But they were seventh years! Why would they come back?"

Luna shrugged. "They didn't exactly learn much last year, did they? And they certainly never took NEWTs. Besides, it's not like they're the most popular people in the wizarding world right now, with their family . . . history."

"So?" said Ginny, her voice bitter. "Family history" was one way of putting it. Lucius Malfoy would only be seeing sunlight through the cracks in the walls of his cell in Azkaban.

Luna shot her friend a sympathetic look, but Ginny was staring out the window wearing a sour expression. "Well," said the Ravenclaw, slow enough as if she were speaking against her better judgment, "you know. If they're here, at least they're trying—"

Just then, the compartment door slid open again.

"Dean!" said Luna, interrupting herself. "I found Ginny."

Dean Thomas walked in, leaving the compartment door slightly open, and sat down next to Luna, across from Ginny. It was strange—looking at him, Ginny could hardly tell that he was the same person she'd dated two years prior. He was even taller now, and he looked much older. He had a very odd expression on his face, as if he were embarrassed, and she hoped it wasn't because of what had gone on between them in her fifth year. That had been so long ago that Ginny felt as if it had happened to someone else, some other girl.

"Heya, Dean," she said, smiling, trying to put him at ease.

"Hi, Ginny," he replied. "Good to see you." He shifted a little, and then he reached behind his back and pulled out the book that she had thrown aside when Luna came in.

"Oh! Sorry, that's mine," she explained, holding out a hand for it.

"'Hamlet, by William Shakespeare'?" Dean read from the cover. He looked curiously at Ginny. "I didn't know you read Muggle stuff, Gin."

Ginny was surprised at first that he recognized it; then she remembered that Dean was a Muggleborn. "Yeah, I don't know," she said, embarrassed for some reason that she could not explain. "I just like . . . you know . . . the stuff they come up with."

Dean tossed it over to her. "I understand. Muggles are the best writers." He smiled at her, and she smiled tentatively back.

Luna cleared her throat, and looked as if she were about to say something, when suddenly, the compartment door, which had been left ajar, banged open.

"I beg to differ," said Blaise Zabini, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Clearly you've never read _A Tale of Two Mudbloods _by Clifford Dickson or _Pride and Pureblood_ by Jezebel Ogden."

Ginny was on her feet in a second, followed closely by Luna and Dean.

"_Zabini_," she spat, as if his name were the worst insult she could think of. "What are you doing here?"

He smirked at her. "It is my unfortunate duty to collect you, Weasle." He turned around. "Come on."

Ginny stood where she was, narrowing her eyes. "Who sent you?"

Blaise glanced back over his shoulder. "Honestly. _Gryffindors_," he muttered. Then, more loudly, he said, "Slughorn," and started walking down the corridor without bothering to wait.

Ginny sighed. "I guess I should go," she said to Luna and Dean. Luna nodded and Dean, for some reason, looked somewhat nervous again. Before Ginny could puzzle it out, she realized that Blaise had disappeared into the next car, so she sped off after him.

A minute later, she caught up, and a few minutes after that, they arrived at Slughorn's compartment, having been, of course, completely silent in the interim period. Blaise knocked on the compartment door, and when Slughorn's pleasant-sounding "come in" drifted out to them, he swept in and tried to shut the door in Ginny's face.

She had been expecting something of the sort, so she was on her guard. She stuck her foot in the doorway and pressed it open with her hand, smiling as if she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary.

"Good afternoon, Professor," she said.

Slughorn was already making decent progress through his first box of crystallized pineapple. "Young Miss Weasley! Do come in and sit, yes, wonderful. Well done, Zabini."

Blaise smirked across the room at her. She tried to ignore him and mostly succeeded.

After she sat down, she had a chance to look about the room. She saw with an unpleasant shock that Pansy Parkinson was lounging at Blaise's left, looking bored—and, Ginny realized, her stomach knotting, Draco Malfoy was on his right, his eyes narrowed directly at her. She looked away, and her gaze landed instead on Neville, who was sitting next to Slughorn and grinning at her. She grinned back. There were four other students there—a Gryffindor girl from Ginny's class named Alice Tolipan; a boy with hair as black as Harry's, from Ravenclaw; and two petite, pleasant-faced Hufflepuffs, a boy and a girl who looked like twins.

"Right," said Slughorn. He was still looking at Ginny. "Are Thomas and Lovegood on their way?"

Ginny blinked at him. Then she shot a nasty look at Blaise. "I think _Zabini_ forgot to mention that they were invited."

He feigned a look of surprise. "Did I? Oh—my mistake. Sorry, professor . . . I thought you just said Weasle. I mean, _Weasley_," he corrected himself pointedly, smirking again. Ginny fumed.

Slughorn waved it away. "Yes, well, no matter. You're going back to them, I presume?" he asked Ginny.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you can just give them their badges, then." Slughorn took another bite of pineapple.

"Badges—right," said Neville. "So. As you all know, preparing Hogwarts for classes this fall took a little more time and energy than it usually does, and because of that, Prefects were not appointed." Ginny looked over at the Slytherins, but Pansy was pretending to be asleep on Blaise's shoulder, and Draco was staring at Neville with a completely blank expression. "That's why," Neville finished, "Professor Slughorn and I are doing it now."

Ginny tensed. A nervous, unpleasant feeling began in her stomach and made its way up to her throat.

"Right, so, Zabini and Parkinson, you're the prefects for Slytherin," Slughorn said, flicking his wand and sending two badges zooming across the room. Pansy perked up immediately and snatched them both from the air, handing one to her housemate with a cold smile. "Baker and Baker—well, Silas and Sedanthe, for Hufflepuff"—the Hufflepuff badges flew over to the petite twins, who both began pinning them on each other, looking delighted. "Bardot and Lovegood for Ravenclaw." One badge flew to the boy Ginny didn't know; the other flew into Ginny's lap. "And," finished Slughorn, "Thomas and Tolipan for Gryffindor." Ginny watched the other Gryffindor girl catch her badge as Dean's landed gently next to Luna's.

Two for each house, thought Ginny. _But if that's the case, what am I_?

"And now, Head Boy and Head Girl," said Neville, looking proudly at Ginny.

Oh no, she thought. Oh, Merlin, no . . .

But there was nothing she could do to stop that moment from happening.

"Weasley, congratulations," said Slughorn, grinning at her. "And Malfoy, from my own house."

Ginny felt her own badge land in her hand at the exact moment that Draco Malfoy caught his gleaming silver badge in his long, thin fingers.

(&)

"I can't believe this," Ginny said for the twentieth time that evening. "I just can't believe it."

Dean gave her a sad smile. "We can't be too surprised about Malfoy and the others. I mean, with Snape as Headmaster now—"

"Just because he's some great war hero doesn't mean I have to like him," said Ginny, somewhat quicker than she meant to. "In fact," she grumbled, now feeling a bit childish but unable to stop herself, "I reckon double agents are even less trustworthy. Means they're really good at lying, doesn't it?"

Dean raised an eyebrow at her.

Just how Snape had been cleared of all charges after he was wounded in the Battle for Hogwarts was still a bit unclear to the majority of wizarding Britain. As always, facts had been exaggerated, but what had leaked from his top-security trial maintained an essential core of truth: Snape had been double agent the whole time, and he had only killed Dumbledore because the old man had made Snape promise to do so. Harry, of course, had testified at the trial, disclosing the circumstances of how Snape had passed his memories on to Harry after his injury from Voldemort's snake, Nagini. Just what had motivated Snape to put his life at such intense risk was never discussed, at Snape's request—and Ginny knew this because Harry had told her. She knew the truth, along with Ron and Hermione: that Snape had been in love with Harry's mother, and he did it all to avenge her death.

She supposed she should feel sorry for him. In fact, she _did_ feel a sharp twist of compassion for Snape's desperate sort of love. His life, she thought, must be one of the loneliest in existence. But she tried not to dwell on that too much. He was, after all, still a right git.

"At least Shacklebolt will be keeping a close watch on Hogwarts this year," Dean told Ginny, breaking her from her reverie.

She stabbed a piece of pot roast. "Yeah. But still . . . Malfoy . . ."

"You know why they did it," interrupted Luna, catching the drift of their conversation as she squeezed in beside Ginny at the Gryffindor table. When Dean and Ginny gave her blank looks, she said, "Well, I thought it would be obvious. It's a big show of unity, isn't it? Moving forward, and all that. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin, Head Boy and Girl."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but Dean turned serious. "She's right," he said, his voice quiet. "It's a good way to show how Hogwarts hasn't changed. All are welcome, regardless . . ."

"Regardless of which side they were on," Ginny grumbled.

"Come on," said Dean, seemingly as much to himself as to her. "Focus on the good stuff. You're Head Girl."

Ginny went a little red at that, and finally managed to smile. "Yeah, all right. Thanks, Dean. And you're Prefects!"

Luna touched her badge self-consciously. "I've got to write to Dad. I never expected _this_."

Ginny pushed her food around some more. She had never expected this, either. Why her? She certainly wasn't Snape's idea of a shining student. She glanced up at the Head Table, and was surprised to see that Snape was deep in conversation (albeit unwillingly, judging by the expression on his face) with Remus Lupin.

"Hey, look!" she said to Dean and Luna, nodding up at the Head Table. "It's Lupin!"

Dean grinned. "Nice! Reckon he's back to teach Defense?"

Ginny's brow furrowed. "Dunno," she said. "He didn't mention it. I saw him just a couple of weeks ago, at my birthday party."

"Maybe he just didn't know about it yet," said Luna, sucking on a chunk of Honeyduke's chocolate. Dessert had just appeared on the tables.

"Are you allowed to be here, stealing the Gryffindor chocolate?" Ginny asked the blonde girl, mock-glaring.

Luna shrugged. "Prefect," she reminded Ginny. Dean chuckled.

Suddenly, the amplified sound of Snape clearing his throat echoed throughout the hall, and everyone fell silent.

"Welcome," he said, somehow managing the make the word sound completely un-welcoming, "to another year at Hogwarts. Now that the feast is over, I would like to make a few announcements.

"First, I have the _distinct_ _pleasure_ of introducing one of your Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, Remus Lupin," he spat, sounding as if he'd rather be drinking Essence of Flobberworm.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. _"Teachers?"_ she mouthed silently, but Dean and Luna merely shrugged.

"Also, please welcome Professor Longbottom, who will be teaching Herbology to the first and second years as an assistant to Professor Sprout." Snape turned his infamous glare on Neville, who, Ginny was shocked to see, didn't seem phased at all. He waved cheerfully at the House Tables, all four of which burst into scattered applause (even Slytherin—less uproariously than the others, but still). _A lot has changed_, thought Ginny, and for once, the idea didn't make her feel desolate. She grinned up at Neville, and he caught her eye and winked.

"Now," said Snape, after the applause had died down, "Prefects and Head Boy and Girl, see me." Then he sat down, and everyone started talking again, even more loudly than before.

Ginny looked across the table at Dean, who shrugged again before he stood up. "Probably the passwords, so we can lead the ickle firsties."

He was right. After he and Luna had heard all that they needed to hear, they went back to their House tables, but not before Luna had squeezed Ginny's shoulder and whispered, "Good luck."

Ginny stood up a bit straighter and looked Snape directly in the eye. "Well?" she asked. "What about me?"

Draco was still making his way over from the Slytherin table. Ginny could see his smirk from across the hall. She knew he was being slow on purpose, making her wait. _Git._

"Patience, Weasley," Snape said, and she thought she saw a glint of dark amusement in his eyes.

She held the tip of her tongue between her teeth, not looking him in the eye. Her gaze fell instead on the series of scars that pockmarked his neck, not quite hidden by the high, black collar of his robes. She knew the red, uneven circles were places where the fangs had pierced him. Looking at the messy constellation they made of his candlewax skin, it was hard to believe he'd survived at all. If not for Hermione's quick application of dittany—

Ginny's eyes slipped to the floor. Lots of wizards and witches in this hall wore a few new scars, though not all of them were visible.

"Sorry, Headmaster," Draco said, drawing up beside Ginny. She bristled and took a step away from him. He noticed, and his smirk grew wider.

"Not a problem, Malfoy," Snape replied. "Now. Are you aware of the Head Dormitories?"

Ginny froze, clenching her fists with sudden shock. She stopped listening. This wasn't happening. This was _not _happening.

" – somewhere beyond the statue of Fflewdur Fflam?" Draco was saying.

Snape nodded. "There is a tapestry of a woman and a unicorn. The password is _Lux_. You share a common room, in which Prefect meetings are to be held weekly. It is up to you two to determine the day and time for said meetings. I expect you to do so by the end of this week.

"The password for the Prefects' Bathroom is _Mediterranean. _You will distribute this password to the other Prefects at the first of the aforementioned meetings. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor," said Draco. Ginny didn't move.

"Miss Weasley?" Snape narrowed his eyes at her. "Any questions?"

She shook her head. She seemed to be staring at a point on the wall behind Snape's back.

"Very well, then," Snape said. "That is all." He started to turn away. So did Draco.

"Wait, Professor," said Ginny. He was already walking back to a side door that led out of the Great Hall. "_Headmaster_," she said, forced to raise her voice so it would carry over the sound of students plodding from the hall. He paused, but he didn't turn around.

She went up to his side. Draco hadn't moved. He was clearly eavesdropping on whatever she had to say next. She sent him a death glare that only made him smirk more.

"Professor," she murmured, trying to lower her voice so that Draco couldn't hear, "I can't live with him. I _refuse_."

Snape's eyes narrowed. Ginny realized belatedly that refusing point-blank was not the best way to get on Snape's good side. Then again, she'd never been one for subtlety.

"What was that, Miss Weasley?" he said, although she knew by the look in his eyes that he'd heard fine. He was punishing her.

"I said," she repeated, more loudly, which meant that Draco was sure to overhear, "I can't live with him."

He'd definitely overheard. He looked as if he would die of smugness. Ginny's fingers twitched as she fought down the urge to grab her wand.

Snape gave her a frozen smile. "That's a pity, Miss Weasley, because _I_ am the authority in this school, not you. It looks like you're going to have to do it whether you want to or not."

Ginny felt the acrid taste of dislike rise in her throat. She thought of a million things to say to him, none of which would make the following year easier for her and a few of which might get her expelled.

"Yes, Professor," she managed to grind out through clenched teeth.

His black eyes glinted. "Headmaster," he corrected, and he hesitated as if he might almost take a couple of points from Gryffindor. Ginny's hands curved into fists at her sides, and he nodded once before he turned and swept away.

Ginny turned back toward the Entrance Hall, feeling empty-headed. Glaring at Malfoy, who looked determined to enjoy the moment for as long as possible, Ginny strode past him, hitting him with her shoulder as she passed. Even though it hurt rather more than she was expecting it to, it felt extremely validating.

(&)

**A/N:** Please review! ^_^


	2. Chapter 2: Perchance to Dream

**A/N:** I did some chapter re-arranging, so let me clarify for my current readers: I broke up the original Chapter 1 into two chapters. I felt that the stuff in this chapter (Chapter 2) was getting buried at the end before, and it's important, so it deserves its own chapter! Also, I'm not sure how you all feel about long chapters, but I'm planning this to be a novel-length fic, and the chapters are tending on the long side right now. But, you can tell me how you feel about that when you review . . . ;) Enjoy!

**Chapter 2: Perchance to Dream**

(&)

Vile dormmates aside, the Head Girl accommodations weren't half bad, Ginny had to admit. Malfoy had hung back after the feast—_probably for some prime Parkinson fawning_, Ginny thought to herself with a twist of her lip—so, after a hurried goodnight to Dean and Luna as they escorted off their first years, she got to explore her new dormitory unmolested. The girl in the tapestry that guarded the entrance reminded her somewhat of Luna, only more Medieval looking: she had long, blond hair and a high forehead, and her voice was delicate, almost hard to hear. She was holding up a silver mirror to the unicorn in the tapestry when Ginny walked up and said, "Lux."

"Welcome," the girl said, but the tapestry was already rolling up from the floor, peeling away from the wall, revealing a wooden door sunken into the stone wall. Once inside, Ginny spent a good bit of time poking around the common room—there was a table with a chess board, a wall covered in books, and curling wrought-iron candlesticks standing about the room that she supposed would make a Slytherin feel more at home. Everything seemed to be decorated in neutral colors: squishy chairs by the fire in a rich tan-brown; wall-paper that looked like birch trees, with white bark and silver-green leaves. Upon closer inspection, Ginny noticed that the wallpaper stretched backward into darkness, trees upon trees until there was nothing, like a real forest. She even thought she saw a flicker of movement in its depths, but then, the fire could have been playing tricks. You never knew with Hogwarts.

There were two doors out of the common area, both thick and wooden like the main entrance. Ginny found that they both had a little bronze plaque beside them, one that said "HEAD BOY: DRACO MALFOY" and another that said "HEAD GIRL: GINNY WEASLEY." She took a mental photograph of her plaque, to remember the moment. Then she pushed inside her door, which had been left ajar.

Her room was wide, with a double bed, a small wooden desk, and her trunk, already moved up from the train. She let out a vast sigh of relief when she realized that adjoining her room were a private toilet and shower. She would rather have Bat-Bogeyed herself than shared a toilet with Malfoy.

She unpacked a few things—toiletries, a few books. She was just going to Spell-o-tape Harry's photos from that morning to her wall when she noticed dark, heavy curtains on the other side of her bed. Leaving the photos scattered on her desk with his letter, she pushed aside the curtains and discovered a window alcove, complete with cushioned seat. Sitting on the seat was a roll of parchment. She read it, not recognizing the handwriting at first.

_Dear Miss Weasley, _

_ Congratulations on being Head Girl. It is one more honor you do to Gryffindor House. Please make yourself at home in these accommodations. _

_ I have included lists of duties and responsibilities to be fulfilled by the Head Girl, Head Boy, and Prefects. Please read these carefully and distribute the workload accordingly at weekly meetings. _

_ The lock on your bedroom door can be charmed with an individual password. Simply tap the doorhandle with your wand, say the incantation (Clostra), and say the chosen password. Once activated, the password can only be reset with a tap from the same wand. _

_ Remember that you can come to me if you should ever have questions._

_ Most sincerely, _

_ Minerva McGonagall _

Ginny felt a sudden rush of gratitude for the old Head of Gryffindor House. Something told Ginny that this letter was more of the Headmaster's department, but Ginny would bet her broomstick it wouldn't have been one-tenth as nice coming from Snape.

After she'd set her password—_blast-ended skrewts_, just because she could—Ginny was struck with a sudden and wonderful idea. She supposed Malfoy would have received a roll of parchment very similar to hers, only he hadn't arrived to read his yet. Sneaking back out into the common room, Ginny poked her head into Draco's bedroom, her heart pounding faster despite herself. His room was just like hers, except for the intimidating black trunk with the Malfoy crest at the foot of his bed where her worn old brown one would have been. She saw the roll of parchment on his desk, bright white in the darkness of the room. She summoned it and unrolled it in the doorway, where the light from the common room allowed her to find the sentence about locking his door. Malfoy's letter actually had been written by Snape, she noticed with a flash of resentment, which gave her all the more pleasure when she magicked that sentence out entirely.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," she said, watching as the parchment settled back on the top of Malfoy's desk. She crept back into the common room, leaving his door cracked open as it had been before. She'd never said "blast-ended skrewts" with such a spring in her step, and a moment later, she was curling up in her window alcove, clutching McGonagall's parchment and chuckling to herself.

She liked starting out with a bit of an advantage.

(&)

That night, her freckled arms spread wide against the blankets of her bed, Ginny had a very strange dream.

She looked down on a circle of nine. They were each perched on a rock, she noticed, though a man with long, white hair was lounging on his with rather pronounced laziness—so pronounced she thought it must be faked.

"Is it so hard to give us a little proof?" he drawled across the circle of his companions. He seemed to be gazing at a woman who sat opposite him, robed in blue, with free-flowing blond hair and, of all things, a rabbit in her lap. She was petting it with long, white fingers, emanating calmness.

"I cannot show you on demand, Arawn, as you well know," she said. Her voice was very gentle, and Ginny was inclined to look past the woman's strangeness and trust the natural wisdom that she sensed was underneath.

"Right. We understand," said another man from the circle, this one dark-haired with a gold-and-silver circlet on his head. His voice had a note of leadership, his tone a sense of finality. Ginny couldn't help but peek at the insolent Arawn, who was rolling his eyes.

_His eyes_. Ginny gave a start when she got a good look at them. His irises were so silvery pale that they faded into the whites, practically indistinguishable. His eyes were like ghosts.

Mumbles broke out amongst the nine at the leader's words. Ginny took the moment to get her bearings. The stones seemed embedded in the dirt on the crest of a hill. It was night, she realized, but the moon was so full and bright that it cast shadows over the group. There were torches staked between each stone, flickering with unnatural blue flame. Somehow, looking at those flames, she knew that these were very powerful magical beings. She felt it in her bones.

"So we trust Adraste." The speaker was a dark-skinned man, tall, judging by the way his knees stuck awkwardly out from where he was seated. He wore a robe that shifted in color between green, gray, and blue in the flickering light. In his right hand was a pale white trident. At his words, the blond-haired woman with the rabbit nodded an acknowledgment of thanks. Ginny figured that she must be Adraste.

The man with the trident kept talking, his voice low. " . . . what we do from here?" he finished, glancing around the circle.

"We build the curse, of course. And then we wait," said a new voice, and Ginny tracked it down to a straight-backed woman with white jewels like stars pinned to her curling brown hair. Her hands were folded in her lap. Ginny noticed a long, dark scabbard sticking out from her belt. The woman had an air of confidence as she continued, "Nearly 3,000 years, if the stars are correct."

Arawn snorted from his corner, but said nothing.

"Where's Gurdy?" asked another from the circle, and suddenly everyone was poking their heads around, squinting to see beyond the torchlight.

"He's not here," said yet another voice, this one deep and rasping, but clearly feminine. Ginny found the speaker a moment later: a dark, hooded figure with a crow on her shoulder. Ginny couldn't see her face, but she felt her blood run cold when she noticed what the woman was holding. A long, gleaming scythe. The grim reaper. "He's off . . . doing me a favor."

Obviously Ginny wasn't the only one curious as well as disgusted by the idea of what favors such a woman would call in. The brown-haired woman who had spoken of stars wore an expression of distaste.

"No matter," said Adraste, and everyone turned to her. "The stars will align. Gurdy will be our messenger to those we have chosen. It is Fated."

Ginny found this whole speech to be a bit ridiculous, although she had to admit that the full moon and the torchlight and the smell of impending rain added a very believable atmosphere to the whole experience. She thought she had goosebumps, if one could have goosebumps in a dream.

Back in her Head Girl dormitory, Ginny tossed about in a troubled sleep, the faces of those nine beings flitting in and out of her confused dreams. Besides the six she'd heard from at first, there were two almost familiar flame-haired ones, a man and a woman, and another man with skin as dark as night and a lyre strapped to his back. It was getting hard to keep them all straight, but they stayed in her head as the night stretched on and on.

Little did Ginny know that in the room next to her, they stayed in Draco's head, too. He was having the exact same dream.

(&)

**A/N: **Aha! Gods and goddesses and dreams, oh my! More to come soon. Please review!


	3. Chapter 3: Professor, Professor

**A/N:** Another long one. I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 3: Professor, Professor**

The next morning at breakfast, Luna announced her presence at the Gryffindor table by dropping her schoolbag between Dean and Ginny and promptly following it onto the bench.

"I had a true dream last night," she said. Her eyes were wide and almost feverish. Dean and Ginny, knowing her quite well by now, didn't question her seriousness.

"What's a true dream?" asked Dean.

Luna blinked at him. "Don't you remember them from Divination? They're exactly how they sound: a dream of something that will come true, or that already has come true."

Dean looked confused. Luna turned to Ginny for backup, but the redhead was not paying close attention, instead concentrating on (and failing at) suppressing a great yawn.

"I think I had a weird dream last night, too," she said when she caught Luna's expression. "Didn't sleep well at all." Ginny squinted at Luna. "In fact, I think maybe you were in it . . ."

"I don't think so," said Luna, but Ginny decided to ignore this cryptic comment as she spooned eggs onto her plate. Luna shifted back to Dean and asked, "Did you dream last night, Dean?"  
Dean shrugged. "I never remember my dreams," he said.

Luna seemed a bit put out by this comment, but before she could say anything more, they were interrupted by someone clearing her throat.

"Professor McGonagall," said Ginny, amber eyes wide as they followed the formidable professor's robes up to her face.

"Miss Weasley. Mr. Thomas." McGonagall's gaze landed last on Luna. "Miss Lovegood. I do believe it's time to pass out schedules." She shifted a significant look between the papers in her hand and Ginny's face.

Ginny watched, feeling as if she was missing something crucial. Then a vague memory of the list of Prefects' duties floated to the surface of her mind.

"Of course!" she said, shooting upright so fast that she jostled the table. "We'll help for Gryffindor, Professor," Ginny added, kicking Dean in the shin so he would get the idea.

"Very good," said McGonagall, though she didn't sound entirely convinced. "Miss Lovegood, go find Mr. Bardot and help Professor Flitwick do the same."

"Yes, Professor," Luna said. She stood up much more gracefully than Ginny had and crossed the Great Hall to the Ravenclaw table.

The Prefects, plus Ginny for Gryffindor and, she noted with narrowed eyes, Malfoy for Slytherin, made short work of handing out schedules to the students in their Houses. Though she was pleasantly surprised by her Prefects' efficiency (she didn't know when she'd started to call them _her Prefects_), Ginny didn't get a chance to look at her own schedule until the Hall had mostly cleared out.

Luna came back over from the Ravenclaw table, picking up her bag from beside Dean. She was slightly out of breath. "Did you see?" she asked. "We have Defense together!"

"Brilliant!" said Ginny. She liked classes with Ravenclaws: even if they were making you feel stupid, you could at least count on them to ask the right questions. It kept things interesting.

But Dean was frowning at his schedule. "Hang on, this can't be right," he said.

"What?" asked Ginny.

"It . . . It says we've got Defense with all four Houses," he said. "All seventh years at once."

(&)

The classroom had filled out pretty much exactly as Ginny would have predicted. Slytherins and Gryffindors hugged the desks at opposite walls, while a strip of Ravenclaws padded the Hufflepuffs in the middle from the green-and-silver ties on the right.

_Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin. United,_ Ginny thought, with a sardonic twist of her lip. Luna, who had chosen a desk beside Dean's in the row behind Ginny, was about the only student not sitting with her House.

When Lupin strode into said classroom, Ginny watched him assess the layout, store the information, and move right ahead without hesitation. Just before he spoke, he caught her eye and winked, and she realized that even a classroom full of Slytherins couldn't ruin Lupin's teaching for her. She grinned back.

"So, everyone, welcome to your N.E.W.T. level Defense class," he said, free of embellishment as always. "You're here, together, in this unusually large class for a few very important reasons." He stuck his hands down into the pockets of his rather scruffy brown robes. "First, you will be alternating between myself and one other professor—" the class burst into excited murmurs, over which Lupin raised his voice to continue "—for the maximum practical experience. Second, speaking of practical, you will be performing actual spells in a practice dueling scenario, and, naturally, the more partners you duel, the better you'll get." The excited murmurs rose to a feverish pitch. "And third," Lupin said, somehow managing not to shout, "you will learn to work with all three of the other Hogwarts Houses to battle the Dark Arts."

The murmurs fell silent. Ginny almost grinned again. It was really rather ingenious—an idea of which Dumbledore would be proud, she thought—but students were still a bit touchy about having the idea of Inter-House Unity pushed upon them so openly. After all, the War continued to be the giant, unacknowledged troll in the room: everyone thought about it constantly, but nobody discussed it. Everybody preferred to pretend that it had never happened so they could go on with their Quidditch and House Cup rivalries with as much passion as before. Ginny herself was no exception, although she'd be the last to admit it. There was something about having a family of peers—something about the _belonging_ that Gryffindor gave her—that made it very hard to give up.

Lupin smiled at the now-silent room. Ginny snuck a glance across at the Slytherins and noticed Malfoy wearing the expression she had nicknamed "deadface." Pansy Parkinson looked about to spit poison.

"Well, now," said Lupin, "shall we begin?"  
Everyone was shocked when a Hufflepuff—one of the Prefect twins, Ginny noticed. Sedanthe, was it?—raised her hand.

"Who's our other professor, Professor?" she asked, and a few Slytherins sniggered at her wording.

"Right, good question. What's your name?"

"Sedanthe Baker, sir."  
"Baker. Well, we'll get to him. First, I need to divide you up for today's lesson." Ginny barely registered Lupin taking out his wand and drawing a line in the air that bisected the class. She was too busy wondering about their mystery professor. She remembered how Snape had introduced Lupin at the Welcome Feast—"one of your Defense professors." It had slipped her mind in the wake of the "Living With Malfoy" disaster. But who could the other one be?  
The scraping of desks brought her back to the present. Lupin's line had not divided the Houses evenly down the middle, so that Gryffindor and Hufflepuff would be separated from Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Instead, he'd drawn it midway back through the classroom, dividing rear from front so that there were some students from each House in both groups. Ginny was disappointed to note that Luna and Dean had drifted apologetically backward, while she had to migrate to the front. Her mood fell even farther when she noticed Malfoy, Parkinson, and Zabini doing the same.

"Right," Lupin went on, oblivious to Ginny's blank stare as he pushed into the center of the classroom, between the two groups. "Now, here's what we're going to do."

Despite herself, Ginny was utterly fascinated by the lesson in the next five minutes, foul teammates or not. Lupin described a fake scenario to the groups. They were trapped on a magically sealed island, he said. A shield surrounded them. It absorbed any spells they shot at it. They had only enough food to sustain half their members for the rest of their lives. Certain members were given pretend skills—Ginny, for example, was cast as a Mediwitch, while Parkinson was a trained Herbologist—but there were drawbacks, because Ginny was also a werewolf.

"Now, you must agree as a group upon one solution to your problem. Majority rules," said Lupin.

The other Ravenclaw Prefect, the black haired boy named Bardot, spoke up at once from Ginny's group. "But how do you define a solution? Number of lives saved? Escape from the island? Sir," he added as afterthought.

Lupin gave what Ginny could only categorize as a smirk. "That is part of the exercise, Bardot. Now, first group—" Lupin gestured at the group opposite Ginny's "—get started in here. Second group, follow me."

He led them down the hall to a different classroom. Pausing outside the door, he turned to them.

"For this week, you'll be Group B," he told them. "You'll mostly be working with your new professor." He caught Ginny's eye again. "He knows about this exercise. You have forty-five minutes to agree, and we'll reconvene." Then he rapped his knuckles on the classroom door.

A second later, Harry Potter opened it, as if he'd been standing on the other side with his fingers on the knob.

Ginny couldn't help herself. She gasped. Harry found her face immediately and beamed, but then his eyes scattered away across the rest of the group, who stood motionless and stunned.

"Hello," he said. "Thanks, Rem—Professor Lupin."

Lupin smiled, nodded, and walked back to their original classroom. Ginny heard his footsteps echo all the way down the hall, punctuated at the end with the _click_ of the closing classroom door.

" . . . Professor Potter, but you can call me Harry when there are no other professors around," Harry was saying. A few students gave a weak laugh. "I'm here as a favor to the Headmaster . . ."

He went on to say some bollocks about how he was no expert, but he knew about the practical application of magic, and that's what he was going to teach, but Ginny stopped listening about halfway through. She was sure her eyes had glazed over and her face frozen in shock. Harry? Harry, a _Professor at Hogwarts_? On the one hand, she noted, this was no different from a DA meeting, not really, and Harry had proven himself more than capable of teaching Defense at those. On the other hand, this was _Hogwarts_. And Harry was her _new professor_.

And he hadn't even told her about it.

" . . . But you have an exercise to complete, don't you?" said Harry as he pushed his glasses up his nose. He stepped aside from the doorway and ushered them past him. "Come on, best get started."

Ginny, still barely able to move, ended up trailing the group and walking in last. Just before she reached Harry, she saw Malfoy brush past him as if he'd never seen the "new professor" in his life. Interesting, she thought, momentarily distracted from her jumbled emotions. Pre-Battle for Hogwarts, Malfoy would have jumped at this prime opportunity for Harry Potter mocking. She realized the blond Slytherin hadn't even interrupted Harry once during his introductory speech, and the realization actually made her pinch herself, wondering if any of this was real.

"Gin," said Harry in a very low voice when she drew even with him. He was smiling as if he expected her to be pleased. He thought he'd given her the grand gift of his company when before she'd have had to wait months to see him.

Ginny was happy, she told herself, forcing a smile onto her face. Here he was, just the person she'd been missing most—hadn't she?—right here, in the flesh, and now she'd get to see him every day until term ended. Until the _year_ ended.

She was happy to see her boyfriend, she reasoned. Of course she was. She simply hadn't been expecting him to also be her Defense professor.

"Harry—" she began, but she glanced away from his face, not wanting to meet his eyes, and she noticed Malfoy looking back at them, wearing deadface again, and Zabini, over his shoulder, smirking. She cleared her throat. Harry followed her eyes and stood up a bit straighter, backing away from her.

"Right," he said, and she moved into the group, away from him. "Get talking!" he called.

She could feel his eyes on her as the class wore on.

(&)

Ginny's mood had not improved by the end of the lesson. In fact, she'd only gotten more frustrated and annoyed, even when her classmates didn't necessarily deserve it. It was a problem she had: when something that she didn't want to think about was in the back of her mind, upsetting her, she found other things to criticize so she could forget about the real problem. She knew she did it, which only made her angrier.

The buzz was just dying down from Group A about "Professor Potter." Ginny had valiantly struggled against her desire to roll her eyes when Lupin introduced him to the rest of the class. Harry had given a stilted yet meaningful speech. Luna was trying to catch Ginny's eye from across the room, but Ginny, jaw set with stubbornness, was ignoring the Ravenclaw.

"So," said Lupin, taking a cue to lead from Harry, who had faded into a corner of the room, "what have you come up with? Group A?"

Everyone looked vaguely around at the other group members, hoping someone else would speak.

After a minute of this, Luna stepped forward. She cleared her throat. "Well, first off, we think the exercise is a bit unfair, since we had no way of knowing the substance of the shield keeping us in." Luna's group members looked a bit concerned that she'd chosen to lead off with that, but a quick glance at Lupin confirmed to Ginny that he was suppressing a smile. "But we finally decided that we would draw straws to send someone across in an attempt to walk through the shield. Anyone except the mediwitch."  
"And why is that?" asked Lupin.

"If the person going across is injured by the shield, we'll need her to do some healing," said Luna, as if she were explaining to a small child.

"And what then?"

"If we fail to cross the shield?"

Lupin nodded. Luna went on to describe an elaborate plan of spells to check the origin of the shield (cast by the Charms expert), along with work on producing food by the Transfiguration expert and the Herbologist. In the end, they were determined to lose none of the group, and had not come up with a failsafe plan in case their spells did nothing to help.

Lupin turned to Ginny's group.

"And you?"

Bardot stepped forward immediately. "We took it for granted that the shield would kill those who tried to cross it," he said.

Lupin raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. After a pause, he nodded for Bardot to go on.

Ginny noticed that, over Lupin's shoulder, Harry was leaning back against the stone wall, arms crossed in a casual manner belied by the intent expression on his face. He was interested in what they chose, she realized, more so than he'd been in the other group. She assumed it was because of her, and she felt a rush of annoyance again, telling herself (despite an inner voice that said she was being unfair) that this kind of treatment was exactly what she'd dreaded when she'd first seen him open that classroom door.

Bardot hesitated. "In the end, we voted that some would sacrifice themselves by walking into the shield, so that the others might live."  
Lupin's eyebrows rose even higher. Harry pushed off from the wall, hands falling to his sides.

"Who?" Harry asked, and several students jumped as if they'd forgotten he was there.

"Well—"

"Were you one of them?"

Bardot was looking a bit flushed. "Actually, no, but—"

Harry cut the boy off again. "I want to see a show of hands. Who?" Ginny was shocked by his eagerness now. Bardot's expression soured at being interrupted by a professor—twice. The dark-haired Ravenclaw glared around at his group members as if it was somehow their fault.

Slowly, lazily, wearing an expression of extreme boredom as if to maximize the impression that he really didn't care a whit for what was going on around him, Malfoy raised his hand. His eyes shifted to meet Harry's, and the bland expression he wore was a challenge in itself: _See?_ He seemed to be asking. _Bet you weren't expecting that_.

Parkinson and Zabini raised their hands, as did a Hufflepuff boy and two Ravenclaws whose roles Ginny couldn't remember. Ginny had argued that she should join them because of the whole werewolf bit, but they'd forced her to stay because of her Mediwitch training. They could always magically bind her during full moons, they'd argued.

Harry's face hadn't moved since Malfoy had raised his hand. Not turning from the Slytherin boy, he asked, "And would you care to explain?"

Malfoy, hand still in the air, shrugged his shoulders and said, "Didn't want to live the rest of my days on an island with these idiots, did I? Think I'll take death, if I've got the choice."

Harry's jaw twitched, but he had no answer for that. The silence lengthened, awkwardness expanding through the classroom as if someone had started blowing up a balloon and it was stretching, stretching, about to burst.

"They made the decision voluntarily," said Bardot at last, still sounding a bit miffed. "And those who chose to live could survive off the food."

"Well!" Lupin clapped his hands together and everybody gave a start. "This has been interesting, very interesting. I hope you learned a bit more about yourselves and about each other from an exercise like this." His eyes were alight with the unique mix of humor and seriousness that Ginny had always appreciated in him. "For homework, please write ten inches on what you personally will take away from this lesson. Off you go!"

The students stayed frozen for an instant, not really registering that they'd just been dismissed, until something clicked and everybody starting moving at once, except Bardot, who raised his voice to ask, "You mean, that's it? We don't know who was right?"  
"It wasn't a matter of right and wrong, Bardot!" Lupin called, before pushing through the bustling students to Harry. Ginny saw them bend their heads together—Lupin's, slightly graying, dipping low to hear whatever Harry was saying over the din of departing students. She watched them for a few moments, but Harry didn't look over, so she turned and went to retrieve her bag.

Not paying attention to where she was going, she almost walked face first into Malfoy, who was about to pass her on his way to the door. They both froze, Ginny cutting off an instinctive apology that she would have given to anyone else for almost bowling them over.

Malfoy opened his mouth as well, and Ginny braced herself for what she knew was coming—_Bet you'll earn your Defense marks this year, eh, Weasle?_ Or something along those lines. But before he could speak, Pansy came even with them, touched him on the elbow, and whispered something in his ear that Ginny couldn't catch. At her words, Malfoy smiled, a knowing sort of smile that showed only the very tips of two very white, ever-so-slightly crooked canines. Then he stepped aside and gave Ginny and ironic bow as she passed.

Feeling truly angry now and annoyed at everyone without reason, Ginny wrenched her bag from her desk and marched right past Dean and Luna, leaving them to stare after her before sharing a significant look that they were lucky Ginny couldn't see.

(&)

The rest of the morning's lessons helped Ginny cool off a bit, and Dean and Luna were wise enough to leave her alone at lunch. She'd propped a book open with a fork and was studiously ignoring anybody who bothered to sit down near her.

Had any of Ginny's brothers been in the vicinity of the Gryffindor Table, they would have taken one look at her with her face pressed to the book as she ate and given her a wide berth. The "concentrating on my book" tactic was one she'd used often at The Burrow, when she'd been caught between the desire for a meal and the equally as strong need to be left alone by her caring yet sometimes overbearing family. Ginny didn't actually need to read the book, although often she would. On the occasions when she didn't, she would simply use it as a decoy, something to pretend to be focused on while she sorted through her thoughts or enjoyed the privacy of her own head.

This was one of those times when Ginny wasn't reading the book.

She'd gotten over the irrational anger that had flooded over her in Defense, but it left her with a sad, disappointed feeling that she couldn't shake off. Whether she was disappointed in Harry or herself, she couldn't say. She knew she should be glad for him, and she knew he'd make a great professor. But a part of her felt crushed, like he'd taken a good thing and found the fastest way to ruin it. She'd finally gotten a year of Hogwarts on her own terms, no Trio, no War. She'd even begun to have friends of her own, close friends, like she hadn't had since before—well, since _ever_. She wasn't the type to open herself up to best friends, thanks to Tom Riddle. He'd taught her that.

And Harry had to come along, completely unassuming and kind and _good_, and take everything out of her control again. He was always doing that.

"Afternoon, Miss Weasley," came a laughing voice, and Ginny's stony-faced look of anger at being interrupted melted away when she saw Neville coming toward her.

He laughed at her expression. "Only called you that to get your attention," he said, "and so you wouldn't hurt me for intruding."

Ginny smiled back. Neville had a way of making everyone feel at ease now, a shocking consideration when one remembered his stuttering, nervous pre-War self. "I wouldn't dare hurt a professor," she told him.

"Of course not," he joked, and then sobered. He threw down a bit of parchment on the pages of her book. "Note from Harry," he said in a lowered voice. "Didn't want to come down here himself, you know . . . draw attention, and all that."

Ginny's eyes shot to the staff table, where Harry sat towards the end, between Lupin and Hagrid. He was looking right at her. She slid her eyes back to Neville and nodded. "Thanks," she said.

He grinned again, but walked off without saying anything else, distracted by an argument breaking out across the Hall.

Ginny, knowing Harry would still be watching her, opened his note very carefully and read it, then, without looking at him, gathered her things and left the Hall.

Within minutes, he was trotting toward where she stood beside the lake, autumn sunlight flashing off his glasses.

"Gin," he said, breathless by the time he reached her. He laced his fingers in hers and tugged her along the lake path.

His fingers felt familiar in hers, but she found herself struggling to find words. "I—I can't believe you're really here," she said at last.

He was smiling. "I know. Weird, right? I can't believe I'm a Hogwarts professor." Their feet crunched on the gravel path. "But Hermione's right," Harry added. "It's just like the DA . . ."

"Of course," said Ginny. "You're a natural teacher."

Harry's grin widened, but then it faltered and he looked suddenly pensive. "Only—in today's lesson, your group was a bit strange, wasn't it?"

Ginny shrugged, staring out across the Lake, which was calm as a mirror on the fine day. "It was Malfoy's idea."

Harry stopped walking, and the sudden movement pulled Ginny to a halt one step in front of him. "You're joking! Malfoy came up with all that sacrificing nonsense?"  
Ginny quirked her lip. "I thought you'd be pleased. I know you love sacrifice . . ."

Harry rolled his eyes at her, but he didn't laugh or even smile, and she realized she may have offended him. The War became fresh again in the oddest of ways, in the quickest of moments.

She was facing him now, the sun lighting up the gold tones in her eyes as it shot up, reflected off the water. Harry took her hand out of hers and moved his palms to rest on her shoulders. He was a few inches taller than her, that's all. He moved a step closer.

"Harry," Ginny said, pulling away just a fraction so that his hands slipped and fell to his waist.

She could tell he was hurt by the ways his eyes turned sheltered, hooded. "You're not—are you upset?" he asked, confused. He sounded afraid to be wrong and afraid to be right.

Ginny sighed. "I can't go around kissing my professor, Harry," she told him. Her voice was low, as if someone were nearby to eavesdrop, but it was only because it was difficult to say the words.

Harry looked as if he might laugh. "Come on, Gin, there's no one around—"

"That isn't the point!" she said, and then she stopped and took a breath. "Look. I'm so glad to see you, really, and I think you'll be a fantastic professor. But I can't—I can't date you, not out in the open, not while you're teaching me and everyone's around us to watch. I don't want to . . . to be ridiculed. Can't you understand that's how it will be?"

He seemed rather thrown by her speech, but he could tell by the set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes that she was dead serious. And then, seeing that, Harry's face changed, and Ginny watched as the dawning of realization came into his eyes and then the sad turn of his lips, the slump of his shoulders.

"You're right. You're right, of course. I can't very well go holding your hand between classes and . . . Well." He gave her a lopsided smile that managed to make her knees a bit wobbly, despite how annoyed she was with him still. "I guess I didn't think that one through."

"Oh, Harry." She reached out and touched his cheek, and he covered her hand with his hand. "When do you think anything through?"

He laughed, and their hands fells apart as they kept walking again, this time with space between them. Ginny couldn't help but remember a different time they had broken up, for a very different reason, only that time had been much more dramatic and _noble_ and she had been the one objecting to it. This time, she felt light, she felt _free_, and she knew there was nothing to worry about. If they could get through the last time, this was nothing but a pleasant break, a blip, nothing more.

Ginny chatted about being Head Girl, about sharing a dormitory with Malfoy (Harry scowled), about Snape as Headmaster. She talked about anything and everything, and Harry chipped in or listened by turns, and it felt _good_. By the time they'd doubled back to where they'd started, she felt content.

Harry grabbed her hand and squeezed it one last time. "There's always the Christmas holidays," he said.

"Yeah. Christmas holidays." Ginny smiled. "Listen, thanks—"

Harry cut her off. "Oh! And I almost forgot." He dug in his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a thick rectangle of folded parchment. "Letter from Hermione."

Ginny dropped his hand to take it. She would open it later, in her room, when she could savor it without interruption. She sighed. "Thanks," she said.

"I'd walk you up to the castle, but . . . I want to visit Hagrid. Do you mind?" said Harry.

"Not a bit," said Ginny, and a few moments later she was waving him away, feeling a little sad after all.

(&)

**A/N: **Okay, so, a couple of notes on this chapter. First, not finding much evidence in canon on how one becomes qualified to be a "professor" at Hogwarts, I decided that, if anyone were considered naturally qualified to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts by wizarding Britain, it would be Harry Potter. His youth could be overlooked in favor of experience . . . and because it's important to the plot, that's exactly what happened. :) Second, there's lots more Draco/Ginny interaction starting in the next chapter, and those pesky gods and goddesses come back into the picture, too. Please review!


	4. Chapter 4: Daydreams and Michelangelo

**A/N:** First, I'd like to give a huge THANK YOU to my continued readers & reviewers! :D Cyber cookies for you. Second, there will be a few notes on this chapter and review replies at the chapter's end. And third: I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 4: Daydreams and Michelangelo**

(&)

Luna Lovegood, nestled into the corner of her Charms classroom, was lost in a daydream.

The glassy-eyed expression she wore was so common that even Professor Flitwick didn't bother trying to get her interest. In fact, he probably thought that was just how Luna looked when she was paying attention.

Her concentration had first wavered when she tried to remember her strange dream from the night before. There had been nine people, she knew—but not people, not exactly. They were more than that. She could see their powerful auras in her dream: a sort of mist that lit them at the edges. And somehow—she didn't understand exactly how—she'd known from the start of the dream that what she was seeing had really happened.

Still, as soon as Luna tried to remember _why_ the nine figures had been so important, her attention slipped again and she started thinking about Dean Thomas.

Dean was perfect. She'd known it for a long time now, ever since they'd recuperated together at Shell Cottage. No—since before that; she'd known it from the first days of their shared captivity at Malfoy Manor, when Dean had told her the story of his life on the run. He'd talked in a low voice when the Death Eaters weren't around. Luna had felt comforted by the way his voice grew raw from talking, and from emotion. His eyes, dark like gemstones in shadow, had been as expressive and unabashed as his words. He had a golden soul, like a true Gryffindor. Luna could see it as plainly as she'd seen the misty auras of the gods and goddesses in her dream. She had to bite her tongue sometimes to keep from telling him.

Luna sighed. Right about now, Dean and Ginny were in Care of Magical Creatures together, and Ginny's greatly improved mood after lunch suggested that they were probably having a grand old time.

"Miss Lovegood? Would you care to demonstrate?"

Luna jumped and focused on Professor Flitwick, who was holding his wand aloft with an expectant look on his face.

Luna cleared her throat. After a moment's hesitation, she raised her wand (trying her best to imitate Flitwick's exact stance), and then—"Sorry, Professor, but could you repeat the pronunciation for me one more time?"

Luna was no amateur at being caught out during the middle of a daydream.

Flitwick smiled indulgently. "Of course. It's _SEN-sus OPT-i-ma_," he said.

Luna nodded her thanks. So they were working on the Supersensory Charm—now she remembered. She'd read ahead in her Charms book over the summer, as any half-decent Ravenclaw would. She repositioned her wand. "_Sensus Optima!_" she said, imitating the stabbing motion followed by a wide loop that was required for the spell.

It was as if her head had swiveled around in a very unnatural direction—while somehow still facing forward. Luna's range of vision now encompassed an otherwise impossible view of the classroom, starting behind her left shoulder (the gray stone wall) to behind her right one (including a group of fascinated Ravenclaws, some very bored Hufflepuffs, and the bookcase toward the back wall of the room). A flood of sounds washed over her at the same time. Luna could hear one of the Hufflepuff's heavy breathing and the swish of Flitwick's robes as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. Even her skin crawled with new sensation: a brush of air from the girl next to her uncrossing her legs raised the hair on Luna's arms. Underneath it all, Luna heard the beat of her own heart, as loud as a heavy drum.

Overwhelmed by it all, Luna began to shake, and the tremors felt so strong under her increased awareness that she thought she might be seizing. Luna, closing her eyes, felt her wand slip from her fingers, and the sound of it hitting the floor—magnified to her sensitive ears—broke the spell.

When she opened her eyes again, she realized three things. First, her violent trembling was really nothing more than a light shivering, so small as to be imperceptible to anyone but herself. Second, Flitwick was beaming at her. Third, even the bored group of Hufflepuffs were now watching her with interest.

"Fantastic!" Flitwick said through his smile. "It can be very overwhelming the first time, can it not? But never fear, that's why I've assigned you some meditative practices as homework. Advanced charmwork is heavily reliant on concentration—"

And then Flitwick was off again, describing the direct correlation between time spent meditating and ability to cast the most complex of charms, as evidenced by recent magical studies involving Buddhist monks in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia.

Luna found the subject very fascinating for a while, but before long, she found her mind slipping back towards her daydream—back towards Dean Thomas.

(&)

Ginny, struggling to stifle a laugh, managed to turn the sound into a coughing fit. This tactic was so effective that Hagrid thumped her heartily on the back (she was thrown forward several feet) and asked, "Yeh all right there, Ginny?"

"Y—yes, Hagrid," she managed, her eyes trained on the giant professor and definitely _not_ looking anywhere near the vicinity of Dean. "Just a tickle in my throat, thanks."

"Right. Some folks have allergic reactions to these, mind, so yeh'd best back off if the cough gets worse." He gave her his familiar reassuring smile before wandering across the group to oversee Malfoy and Zabini.

Just as she'd gotten control of herself, she approached Dean and nearly lost it again. He was sitting cross-legged on the grass, fighting off two overly enthusiastic kneazles: one draped across his shoulders like a feather boa, purring audibly, and the other kneading his thigh.

"Ow!" he said. "Some partner you are, Gin." He glared at her, an expression which was decidedly unthreatening coming from someone who was covered in cute, furry creatures. "I could use a little help."

"You should take it as a compliment," she said. "I've heard they can identify untrustworthy characters . . ."

"Yeah, I heard that, too. During our lesson _just now_," Dean pointed out, but she was laughing again. The kneazle on his thigh had straightened up and put its paws squarely on his chest.

Taking pity on him, Ginny approached with careful steps and offered a palm to Dean's lap-kneazle. The spotted, amber-colored creature eyed her with interest, gave a few cautious sniffs, and then leapt down from Dean and tangled itself around Ginny's ankles.

"I like them," she said to Dean, who was trying to shift the shoulder-kneazle, still looking rather disgruntled. "I wouldn't mind a pet one."

Dean grimaced at her. "You sound like Luna," he said.

Ginny lifted the kneazle at her feet into her arms. Giving it a few careful pats, she cast a glance at the rest of the group. The Gryffindors seemed to be enjoying the lesson, asking Hagrid for their kneazles' names as he walked amongst the students. The Slytherins seemed a bit more wary of the creatures. Watching their shy but not disinterested approaches with narrowed eyes, Ginny saw new meaning in their timidity: they seemed simply unsure of whether or not they would earn their kneazles' trust. As the most recent "guilty party" in the War, they were, Ginny could understand, desirous of avoiding the pointing finger—or, in this case, the pointing paw.

Ginny almost chuckled again.

At that moment, Malfoy glanced up from beside Zabini and accidentally caught her eye. She was surprised to discover that he, too, wore the traces of a laugh. Zabini went on talking beside Malfoy, and by the mischievous expression on his face as he looked down on their two chosen kneazles—a pretty pair of white and black ones, respectively—he was midway through a sarcastic comment about the lesson.

The smile dropped off Malfoy's face, but he kept staring across the patch of grass at Ginny with an annoying level of intensity. She felt an illogical sense of guilt—_I wasn't looking at him on purpose—_and yet she couldn't tear her eyes away.

Luckily, her kneazle chose that moment to gnaw her finger in a gentle reminder to start petting again. Ginny, brought back to reality by the insistent creature, let her locked-in gaze drop away.

(&)

"—just don't understand why that's so amusing," Blaise continued. He stopped when he realized Draco wasn't paying attention anymore. One glance at his fellow Slytherin explained why. Draco was gazing across the patch at the redheaded Weasle, his face expressionless. "Draco?"  
Draco's gray eyes slid to meet Blaise's look. "You're a fully-grown wizard _in Slytherin_ and you just admitted that your greatest ambition is to own a house full of kneazles," said Draco. "Explain how that's _not_ amusing."

Blaise sighed, half at Draco's words and half at his annoying ability to pay attention to a conversation while actually not paying attention to it at all. "How do you always do that?" Blaise asked him, just as the pure white kneazle at his feet starting rolling itself over his impeccably-polished shoes.

"Do what?" Draco asked. He'd already moved on. He picked up the black kneazle and held it as if it were an extremely dark, cursed object set to kill him any moment.

"You _know_ what," Blaise said. "I saw you looking at the Weasle, and yet you heard every word I said . . ." When Draco refused to take such bait, Blaise added, "And I never said I wanted a house full of kneazles. I only said I wanted to breed them. There's a difference." He glared at the pale boy across from him.

Draco's black kneazle, though dangled in an awkward position, started purring up at him.

"How's the dormitory situation?" Blaise asked, pretending to be too occupied with petting his kneazle to catch Draco's immediate glare.

"There is no _situation_," he replied. "I have thus far succeeded in avoiding her entirely, and I hope that will keep up."

"It's going to get boring playing chess with me every night, mate." Blaise grinned at Draco. They'd stayed up late the night before, lounging in front of the Slytherin fire like in their early Hogwarts days. It felt—well, it felt _really good_ to be able to do it again, burdened with only the worry that they'd have too many classes with Gryffindors this term, and nothing heavier.

Draco snorted. "Beating you every night, more like."

Blaise's kneazle lifted its head and hissed across at Draco (who, admittedly, had lost to Blaise the night before). Draco, eyebrows raised in shock, glanced between Blaise and the kneazle.

"I don't believe it," he said. "Kneazle breeding really is your true calling."

Blaise laughed, distracted, and it wasn't until much later that he realized Draco had, as always, found an artful way to change the subject.

(&)

The rest of the day went by in a blur, and before long at all, Ginny found herself departing from the Great Hall with a full stomach; a yawn; and a warm, contented feeling. She managed a subtle wave goodnight to Harry that only McGonagall seemed to notice—and maybe Snape, because he glared a bit, but then, that was his resting facial expression—as well as a sleepy farewell to Luna and Dean, who were heading up to the library before curfew.

Ginny felt more tired that her day had really warranted, but when she reflected on everything, she figured that the surprise of "Professor Potter" and her subsequent breakup had taken a lot out of her. She supposed that she should also be more morose over that, but, on the contrary, she couldn't shake the guilty relief that had settled over her. It was nice to be an average student, not the girlfriend of Harry "The Hero" Potter.

"Lux," she told the unicorn tapestry, and as it rolled up and peeled away from the wall to let her inside her dormitory, she reminded herself that she wasn't _quite_ an average student this year. She was Head Girl, which was no small feat. And, oh yes—she had some things to take care of regarding that . . .

Lost in her thoughts, she almost didn't notice Malfoy until she was halfway across the common area. When she did see him—thrown across a seat by the fire in a lazy, irreverent way that reminded her of someone she couldn't quite place—she froze.

"Malfoy," she said, caught by surprise, and he turned that very focused gaze on her again. "I—I was just thinking about our Prefect meetings," she managed.

He didn't move. In fact, he was so still that he could almost be a statue, one built of pure white marble, from his pale hair to his pointed, aristocratic features. The indolent curve of his body stretched across the chair was a perfect imitation of sculpture—alive, but frozen. Ginny had seen statues like that in wizarding history books, some made by great wizards like Michelangelo. Malfoy, she thought, would fit right in.

"What about them?" he asked.

"What about—oh." Ginny's cheeks felt hot. "Well, what day works for you?"

He shrugged, but kept his eyes trained on her. They were a pale gray, she noticed, although they took on colors from what was around them, and right now they were alight with fire from the hearth. "May as well do tomorrow. I have no preference."

Ginny's rising annoyance replaced a bit of her embarrassment. _So this is how he's going to be?_ "Fine. Can you tell Zabini and Parkinson? I'll tell the Bakers, Luna, and Dean."

"I'll get Bardot too, then, shall I?" He sounded utterly bored, as if they were discussing the less stimulating footnotes to the Endless Proclamation issued by the Goblin Convention in 1404.

"Yes. That would be . . . nice." Ginny ground her teeth. "Tomorrow at eight? In here?"

"I suppose we'll have to tell them all our password?"

"Well . . ."

"Nevermind," he said. His face was turned toward the fire now, making his words harder to catch. "Let's just hope they don't abuse the privilege."

Ginny rolled her eyes, marched to her bedroom door, and whispered "Blast-ended skrewts," as quietly as she could manage. Malfoy was annoying, but he had a point. She didn't want him overhearing _her _password. She couldn't have him abusing any privileges.

(&)

A few minutes and a quick change into pajamas later, Ginny was ready to turn in early and read before sleep, when she remembered that she still had Hermione's letter from Harry. Strange that she hadn't just delivered it by owl . . .

Ginny Summoned the letter from her robe pocket and unfolded it, already feeling the pangs of loneliness at the sight of her friend's handwriting.

_Dear Ginny, _

_ Congratulations on being Head Girl! I heard it from Ron, who heard it from your parents, and they're all so _very_ proud of you for it. Of course, I am, too, but I'm not surprised at all. You'll be brilliant. _

_ I suppose you know by now that Harry's going to be teaching Defense along with Lupin this term. He says he's doing it as a favor to Snape, but I think it was really Dumbledore's idea—you know, that portrait of him in the Headmaster's office. It just reminds me of something he'd suggest. I think it can't hurt to prepare these generations for what's really out there, even though they (hopefully) won't have to face anything like it in their time. Harry hasn't given up on being an Auror, of course, but I think he's up for teaching for a year or two first._

Ginny hadn't thought of Harry's Auror ambitions once since seeing him at Hogwarts. She felt a wash of shame at the realization. The Auror exams were said to be strenuous, so maybe all this conventional teaching would be a good refresher course. Whatever his reasoning, it must have been hard for Harry to delay his path to his dream. Feeling a bit humbled, Ginny read on.

_I have exciting news on my own career front, but we're keeping it hidden from the press, which is why I sent Harry with this letter just in case the owl got stopped. _(_Aha_, Ginny thought.) _You know I started consulting with the Magical Archaeology and Artifacts Office at the Ministry for some curse-breaking work—just simple stuff, you know, for now—but I've decided to sign on permanently with a project they've only recently discovered. You'll find out more soon, I promise—I can't say more now. We're starting excavation tomorrow. This is big, Ginny, really big!_

_ I'm sure I'll see you soon. Best of luck at Hogwarts. Let me know if you want any of my old study charts for N.E.W.T.s!_

_ Love from,_

_ Hermione_

An odd sort of ache had filled Ginny's chest by the end of the letter, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or to cry. Ginny really did miss the older girl. Even though Hermione would always be more Harry and Ron's than Ginny's, the two of them had shared many a moment throughout their time at Hogwarts and during the War.

Some parts of the letter puzzled her, however. An excavation? Something big? Hermione had a tendency to exaggerate the importance of the work done through the Magical Archaeology and Artifacts Office, as it was crucial and captivating to her and practically ignored by everybody else. So why should Ginny care about it? And what was Hermione talking about—"I'm sure I'll see you soon"? Christmas holidays were a long way off considering school had only just begun.

Ginny puzzled over the letter in the darkness before sleep, but in the end, she decided it would be no use guessing at Hermione's meaning. Either she would tell or she wouldn't.

Despite all her love for the girl, this was just the sort of thing about Hermione that annoyed Ginny most. In true Weasley fashion, she couldn't stand not knowing once her curiosity had been piqued.

(&)

**A/N:** I spy with my little eye . . . a hint of plot! Haha. There are small clues of what's to come scattered throughout, but it's not a lot, so I appreciate your patience as we build toward the meat of the story.

Thanks again **marinka** and **Cauchy** for your reviews! You've made some great points so far, which I really appreciate and will take to heart as I continue. **Marinka**, you brought up the Slytherins' oddly self-sacrificing manner in the Defense class last chapter - and you're so right, that was a bit OOC from what we know of Slytherin in canon. Part of my explanation for that in this fic is that I would like to address how Slytherins would have to change a bit after the War. I don't see them changing their overall ambitious and cunning nature at all, since that's what makes them Slytherins, but I think they would use it to adapt to a world without Voldemort. (I think they might be forced to, if they didn't want to end up in Azkaban.) I might not have chosen the perfect exercise to demonstrate this in that lesson . . . but I also think Draco/most Slytherins are just the sort to want to die rather than live forever on an island full of Gryffindors. XD I hope that makes sense, without seeming too flippant.

ANYWHOO! Please read and review! Next chapter soon, I hope.


	5. Chapter 5: Jokes and Curses

**A/N: **Okay, so, I know this chapter has a lot of magical discussion, but Impossible Curses are important and will play a huge role in the story, so I had to include it! There will be more notes at the end on Impossible Curses. Also, I decided to update the summary of this story . . . since it's getting pretty AU. Thanks again to those who continue to read and review! I hope you like this chapter!

**Chapter Five: Jokes and Curses**

(&)

Ginny waved at the retreating backs of Dean and Luna, the last prefects to leave the meeting.

"Well," she said, more to herself than to Malfoy. "That went all right."

There hadn't been much to discuss, really, which meant that the whole meeting passed quickly. That ended up being a blessing in itself. Ginny had grown tired of Parkinson's glares and Bardot's pointed looks, which said, "If I don't finish the essay due for Slughorn because of this, I _will_ kill you." At least, that's how Ginny interpreted them.

"I suppose they'll be back this time next week?" Malfoy asked her. "You forgot to mention the next meeting."

Ginny bit back a reminder that he could have mentioned it himself. He'd been pretty silent after the first couple of minutes, when Dean had made a bitter reference to the comfort levels of the dungeons in Malfoy Manor. That _had_ been an awkward moment, followed by an increasingly more awkward silence.

"You'd be surprised," Malfoy had said at last, his tone dry but otherwise hard to read. "The bedrooms upstairs aren't much better."

Zabini had given a weak attempt at a laugh, while Parkinson's narrowed eyes had sent daggers to Malfoy as she tried to understand his intent. Dean had been about to say something else, but Luna's hand on his shoulder stopped him, at least enough for Ginny to cut in and attempt to change the subject.

And after that, silence, from Malfoy at least.

"Look," Ginny said, pulled back to the present. "How about we remind them all before the next meeting? Same as before. I'll get Luna, Dean, and the Hufflepuffs, and you'll—"

"—Converse with my fellow species, the Slytherins," Malfoy said, his eyes back on the fire. He hadn't moved from his favorite armchair beside the hearth. "Got it." His tone was final.

Coming from Malfoy, this was downright kindness. Ginny decided not to push her luck, so she said "Great" and departed to her room.

Once inside, getting ready for her third night's sleep as Head Girl, Ginny realized that she and Malfoy had come to a sort of truce sometime over the past three days. They weren't exactly nice to each other—she'd be much more conversational with a _regular _person, she reasoned, shrugging on an old Chudley Cannons shirt—but they weren't cruel, either, not the way they used to be. If anything, Malfoy seemed more closed off and disinterested, while Ginny's main goal was not to want to throttle something each time she crossed their common room. By their standards, this was fast friendship.

_How strange_, Ginny thought once in bed, her mind wandering toward sleep. Malfoy did have real friends, after all. The idea made her curious. _I wonder what it would be like to be Malfoy's _friend . . .

She laughed, half-asleep, as she turned over in bed. _Good joke . . . _

(&)

The rest of the week passed with the gradually increasing speed of the Hogwarts Express, the way that first weeks back tended to do. Each Defense lesson with Harry grew slightly less uncomfortable, while each of Ginny's other classes became much more difficult each passing day. That essay Bardot had been glaring about for Slughorn was a low point of the week, but learning the Supersensory spell in Charms had been fun (although Ginny could only keep hers up for a few seconds; concentration wasn't her strong suit).

Now, at last, it was Friday, and that meant one more Defense lesson in the morning and then a free period in the afternoon, during which Ginny was planning a visit to Hagrid's hut.

Lupin greeted the class as he had on the first day: pleasant, but businesslike. Harry wasn't there, a fact that surprised Ginny at first but was explained a moment later when Lupin began discussing the day's lesson.

"Today is not a practical day," he said. "Instead, we will be discussing the theory and history of Impossible Curses."

Lupin was the resident expert on the history of Defense and the Dark Arts, while Harry was better at teaching the application of the magic—which only made sense, considering their respective pasts. Still, silence had greeted Lupin's words. A cursory glance around the classroom showed Ginny a sea of faces reflecting her own confusion.

"Impossible Curses are extremely rare and even more difficult to create," said Lupin. "There have only been three known examples throughout history." He surveyed the class. "Can anyone describe an Impossible Curse?"

There was a long silence. Then—"Yes? Mr. Malfoy?"

Ginny almost jumped in surprise. She swiveled around to look at him as he answered.

"They're wards," he said. "Extremely strong protection spells with devastating and permanent effects. They are said to be impossible to break if you trigger them."

"Correct. Very good. Five points to Slytherin," said Lupin, sounding impressed. "They require something of the caster to be created—something precious."

Bardot raised his hand. "But professor . . . what makes them different from a normal curse? I mean, each curse is designed to be unbreakable . . . right?"

Lupin studied the Ravenclaw. "Actually, no. Almost every known curse has a countercurse. Some are spells cast at the time of receiving the curse, spells to deflect or repel—during, for example, a dueling scenario. Others are spells cast after receiving the curse—used to dispel curses, say, from Dark Objects after contact has been made."

Ginny had an urge to look at Draco again. She remembered Katie Bell, under the influence of one extremely cursed necklace . . . But Lupin kept talking.

"Impossible Curses are unique in that they usually have criteria that can break the spell—but those criteria are impossible." Lupin's words were met with mostly blank stares. He flicked his wand at the blackboard, and what looked like a poem appeared.

_If thou be'st born to strange sights,_

_ Things invisible to see,_

_ Ride ten thousand days and nights,_

_ Till age snow white hairs on thee,_

_ Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,_

_ All strange wonders that befell thee,_

_ And swear,_

_ No where_

_ Lives a woman true and fair._

"But what does it mean?" asked Dean. He didn't seem to notice that he'd spoken out loud, to the whole room.

Lupin smiled. "Good question. This is one part of a three-part Impossible Curse—one of the three known examples I mentioned before. Now can you see how it's impossible to break?"

"You mean whomever was cursed would have to do all that stuff? And that would break it?" asked Daphne Greengrass, a blonde Slytherin girl with a face like a mouse.

"Exactly," said Lupin. "That is what gives Impossible Curses their power. They are theoretically breakable—which makes them much easier to cast, in terms of the magical theory behind them—and yet, they are not, because those feats are, for all intents and purposes, unachievable."

"For all intents and purposes?" Zabini said. "So . . . theoretically, they could be done?"

Lupin, who looked rather pleased by the conversation, said, "Well, that's the paradox, Zabini. Could they or couldn't they? If you were the cursed individual, you'd certainly try. And you'd probably spend your whole cursed life trying."

Ginny felt a shiver go down her spine.

Silas Baker raised a hand, his brow furrowed. "But . . . what happens to you? If you receive the curse?"

"Well, each Impossible Curse is individually designed, you see. That's part of the magic inherent in their casting. The caster adds something of him- or herself to each one, a sacrifice, so to speak. They also determine the punishment involved in the curse and the criteria to break it.

"Now, you might be wondering, if these are so rare, why are you studying them at all?" Lupin continued. "The fact is, these are some of the oldest, Darkest magic ever to have existed, and they are still being studied by expert Curse Breakers today. Of the three Impossible Curses I mentioned, none were ever broken. Some are still being discovered. And . . . well . . . this term, they might come up again."

The class broke out in murmurs as Lupin went to the blackboard and started erasing it with his wand. Ginny felt goosebumps on her arms. What was Lupin talking about, "they might come up again"? Surely he didn't mean they'd be on the N.E.W.T.s . . .

"For the rest of class today, start on your homework," Lupin called over the bustle in the room. "Read up on Impossible Curses in your Defense book, chapter fifty-nine. I want a summary _in your own words_ on the theories of wizard historians regarding the past three known Curses. Thirteen inches, due on Monday, please."

Ginny groaned. She turned around in her seat, ostensibly to get out her book, but also to share an exasperated look with Dean. The teachers were laying it on thick this year . . .

Ginny caught Luna's expression. The blonde girl looked as if Christmas holidays had been extended. She was beaming as she flipped through their book, oozing excitement.

"Ravenclaws," muttered Ginny.

(&)

"I don't know, Hagrid," Ginny said for the fourth time that evening. "I'd love to, but . . . is it allowed?"

"Ah, come on, they let yeh bring cats! Wha's the difference?"

Luna raised her eyebrows at the giant. "These are certified magical creat—"

"Loads o' witches an' wizards keep them as pets," he said, his booming voice drowning out Luna like a bucket drowning a fly.

Ginny bestowed a loving look on the tiny, furry creature currently nestled into the crook of her elbow. It curled its lion-like tale around her wrist, and she cracked. She opened her mouth, planning to agree, Luna was sure—

"But, Hagrid, don't these below to the school?" asked Dean before Ginny could speak. He was standing a good distance away. He seemed to be remembering the feather-boa-kneazle from their last lesson.

Hagrid shuffled his feet. "Well, yes, but . . . We didn't realize Emerald was pregnant, yeh see . . ."

"Well, this kit will need to stay with his mother, won't he, Hagrid?" asked Luna.

Ginny gave the girl a wounded look, but Hagrid said, "Yes, for a while." He saw Ginny's expression and added, "They'll be here in my hut, so yeh can think on it an' decide later, if yeh like."

The tiny kneazle started mewling and clawed its way up Ginny's arm to her shoulder. "All right," she said. "I'll think about it. Thanks, Hagrid."

His tiny, beetle eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Knew yeh loved cats, yeh know. Thought of yeh right off."

Ginny set the baby kneazle back at Hagrid's feet. It trotted away to the corner of the hut, still clumsy, to where its mother lay sleeping, and then prodded her with its head, looking for milk.

They spent the rest of their visit chatting amiably about Harry, Ron, and Hermione—Hagrid's favorite subjects, Ginny thought—and set off to the castle loaded with rock cakes just as the sun was going down.

Halfway back to the Entrance Hall, Luna said, "If those kneazles belong to Hogwarts, why don't we see loads of them wandering around the halls?"

Dean and Ginny exchanged confused glances and then burst into laughter. Luna turned to them, her face utterly serious as she said, "Really, though!"

(&)

**A/N: **I tried not to get too Mary-Sue with the pet kneazle thing. It's not just for fun; it will play a part later. I feel like I keep saying this, but I promise it's true!

Re: Impossible Curses . . . The lines in this chapter are from John Donne's "Song," which was also used as a curse in "Howl's Moving Castle" by Diana Wynne Jones, so credit goes to them both for the words and the idea. The idea of the "Impossible Curse" in general is inspired by "The Assassin's Curse" by Cassandra Rose Clarke, although the Impossible Curse in my story will be very different. (Both of the aforementioned books are great and highly recommended!)

Let me know if you notice any discrepancies or feel completely confused by the Impossible Curse thing. It will come up again and should be explained in greater detail by that point!

Oh yeah . . . and please leave me a review! :D


	6. Chapter 6: Blasted Best Friends

**A/N: **Every review I receive makes me feel giddy and grateful. Thank you so much for continuing to read and give me your feedback. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Chapter 6: Blasted Best Friends**

(&)

**A Few Days Prior**

Ron Weasley jumped about a foot from his chair, spilling tea all over himself, as Hermione Granger Apparated into his kitchen.

"Oh—sorry, Ron!" Hermione cast a spell to dry him off before he could get a word in edgewise. "And I'm late as well, I know. I just got caught up at work, and this time I think I've had a breakthrough!"

"It's all right, Hermione," he said. Her face was drawn, as if from lack of sleep, and her hair stuck up in all directions. He stood up and crossed to where she stood, leading her by the elbow into the sitting room. She let him press her gently onto the couch as she went on.

"It's the magical residue that's been giving us problems, you know," she was saying. Ron brushed a curl of hair away from her face. "We couldn't tell if the origin spell had been cast or if it still needed to be triggered, and we were beginning to worry one of us might stumble across it. But today I've been up at the Circle, and I—"

"Alone? Hermione, didn't Frickson tell you not to do that?" Frickson was the head of the project at the Magical Archaeology and Artifacts Office.

She waved his words aside. "In a way, yes, but he doesn't know the site the way I do," she said. "He's rarely up there. I've been there every day since I started."

"Exactly like he told you not to do," said Ron.

"So I've visited a few times after hours," Hermione said like it was no big deal. "I've avoided the center of it, for the most part—"

"For the most part?" Ron knew that, of all people, Hermione could take care of herself, but she had one tendency for recklessness, and that was in the pursuit of an answer. He hesitated for a moment, trying to choose a delicate way of putting his concern into words. "Hermione—"

"Look, Ron, will you just let me tell you what I came here to say? Then you can lecture me about how I'm endangering myself."

Ron narrowed his eyes at her. "All right, go on," he said at last.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Today I found a new trail of magical residue," she said. "We'd been focusing too much on the residue on each of the stones in the Circle, you see—" she noticed Ron's eyes starting to glaze over and hurried back to the main subject at hand "—and anyway, I found a new stone slightly buried in the circle which indicates that this is warded by an _Impossible Curse_." She raised her eyebrows to match the significant tone in her voice.

Ron blinked at her. "A what?"

"Oh, Ron—this is huge! There've only been three previously discovered, and then they were only found out because some unfortunate person actually triggered the curse." Ron opened his mouth, and Hermione added, "We are well able to avoid that this time around."

That shut Ron up for a moment, until he opened his mouth again to ask, "But how can you be sure?"

"It's the new stone!" Hermione said, clearly excited that Ron had asked. "It was covered in Ancient Runes—no translation spell, of course, but luckily I recognized the alphabet—" Ron snorted "—and I think it has the criteria of the curse."

"You _think?_"

"I'm as certain as I can possibly be," she said. Ron didn't know if that counted as any sort of guarantee, but he knew Hermione, and he knew that if anyone's research could be relied upon, it was hers.

"So, whatever you translated tells you how to avoid the curse?"

"Well, that, and it tells me how to break it," she said. "Anyway, I've already sent an owl to Frickson and he reckons we shouldn't alert the media until we find out more."

"But when this does get out—how big is it? I mean, how much does it really matter?" As Hermione's expression became a little too stormy for Ron's liking, he added, "No offense, of course."

"This is unprecedented," she told him, her voice sharp. "We've never had an un-triggered Impossible Curse to study—_ever_. Ron . . . this is the discovery of a lifetime."

Ron's eyebrows shot to his hairline. He was impressed despite himself. Then he grinned at her. "My famous girlfriend. Helping defeat You-Know-Who wasn't good enough, eh?"

Hermione's cheeks turned a bit red, but she gave Ron a playful punch on the arm. "Oh, shut up, you."

"You said you couldn't alert the press, but . . . do you want to give Harry a Floo?"

Hermione smiled. "Yeah, we should. I think he might be interested. I've got an idea to run by him . . ."

(&)

**Present**

"I don't get it," said Blaise, reading the parchment on the wall even though he'd practically memorized it by now.

_Seventh Years, _it read.

_Your Defense Against the Dark Arts class has been cancelled for today. Instead, you will attend a special class outing for practical study. Please meet the class in the Entrance Hall on Tuesday evening at 7 o'clock. _

_ Dress for wet weather._

He turned to Draco. "What's this all about?"

"No idea," said Draco from the couch. He was twirling his wand between his fingers. "I stopped reading after the first sentence."

Blaise made an exasperated sound as he crossed the Slytherin common room to sit beside his friend. "There's some replacement outing," he said. "'Practical study,' it says. Set for tomorrow night."

Draco let his hands fall. "Damn. I was really looking forward to less time with Professor Potter."

"But what do you think it's for? 'Dress for wet weather'—I mean, we can't be going far, can we?"

Draco starting twirling the wand again. Blaise could see that he was losing interest. "I don't know, Blaise," he said. "Whatever it is, I imagine I'll find something to complain about."

Blaise snorted. He knew Draco. The pale Slytherin had grown up a lot since the Battle for Hogwarts—well, since before then, really. Since the Dark Lord had made Malfoy Manor his headquarters. Since Lucius Malfoy had gone off to Azkaban. It was really a toss-up between those two, but either way, at some point, Draco Malfoy had matured. And at least that meant he'd become a little more self-aware.

Which meant, just then, he was being sarcastic. Blaise hoped.

(&)

Ginny left the Gryffindor common room almost as soon as she'd pushed her way inside. It was busy tonight, packed with students catching up on homework that they'd put off during the first week. Dean was going on about some announcement regarding Defense, but Ginny gave him a weak smile and inched toward the portrait hole. Somehow she didn't feel like joining the bustle.

She wandered instead, and before long, she found herself on the grounds. She had lovely timing, she noticed: everything was covered in the purple velvet of dusk. A wide yellow moon hung heavy and low—almost full, she thought to herself.

Ginny loved this time of day, this in-between period when the world looked beautiful and mysterious, even the same old grass and trees she saw every day. It was as if a veil had fallen over Hogwarts, over the distant gray mountains, over the star-sprinkled sky.

Suddenly, pulled from her thoughts, Ginny drew up short. So this is why her body had taken her here, she realized. She felt betrayed by her own feet.

She stood before Albus Dumbledore's grave.

A delicate breeze kissed the top of the lake. Ginny felt it move through her hair, tugging her robes. It smelled wonderful here, of fresh grass and dew and evening. This was a place of peace, and yet the sight of the white tomb gave Ginny a pain in her chest, a breathless dizziness that she'd been suppressing ever since she'd climbed onto the Hogwarts Express.

She missed Fred.

Hogwarts was full of memories of him—pranks he'd played, moments when she'd been upset and he'd been there, right beside George, cheering her up. Sometimes she would see a flash of something and she would forget, for just an instant, that he was gone. That was how it seemed to work, grief. Just when she thought she'd settled with it, it snuck back up on her, and it was all the worse because it took her by surprise.

Ginny took a seat in the soft grass beside Dumbledore's tomb, and she listened to the waves lapping against the shore of the lake. The moon made a trail of gold across the water. She closed her eyes and let the breeze dance across her cheeks.

(&)

Draco watched the letter from his mother wither to ashes in the fire. First, the edges glowed with a lusty red, building to a flash of vibrant orange, but then Draco blinked and the whole thing was shriveling, black. Gone.

He sighed. He couldn't very well feel sorry for himself when he considered his mother's current situation. Husband in Azkaban for life; household in disarray; fortunes on the brink of disaster; and to top it all off, an aimless, disappointing son too selfish to appreciate that it had all been sacrificed for him.

_Well, sort of_, Draco amended. It had actually all been sacrificed for his father's dreadfully misguided allegiances, but, regardless of his current reputation in Wizarding Britain, Lucius Malfoy did care about his son. He was ready to take the (deserved) fall for his Death Eater crimes if it meant Draco and Narcissa could scrounge together a future. As a result, here Draco sat, Head Boy at Hogwarts. Progress.

Draco curled his lip, fighting off a new wave of sarcastic thoughts relating to a Slytherin's self-preservation instincts. Too bad Blaise Zabini saw right through Draco's fake boredom to the chip in the Malfoy boy's shoulder. It was really rather frustrating to have one's unregulated anger at the world taken so lightly. It gave Draco the feeling that he was being transparent—and he avoided that at all costs.

Just then, he heard Weasley pushing her way into the common room. _Fantastic. _Exactly what Draco needed: an interruption from the world's War Hero, brave-and-true bloody Gryffindor to the bone. He turned in his chair to face her, flopping an arm over the side to appear nonchalant.

"Weasley," he said. "Welcome back to our—" _Humble abode_ fell from his lips at the sight of her face. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she'd been crying. A loud sniff confirmed his suspicions.

Not surprisingly, she was as capable as ever of shooting him a piercing glare. "Malfoy, I don't want to hear it right now," she said, her voice like ice despite the fact that she sounded a bit congested.

Draco schooled his features into a blank expression. For some reason, Weasley, studying him, glared even more. Honestly, what more did this jumped-up ginger expect? He had about a thousand witty remarks at his fingertips, and he was politely refraining from each of them. _For no particular reason except that I can't be bothered to take on a real fight tonight_, he told himself, as if to prove that he hadn't gone soft. "Fine," he told her at last. "Goodnight." He indicated her bedroom door with his flick of his head.

She huffed at him as she crossed the room, whispering something under her breath that he couldn't catch._ Mature, _he thought with a twist of sarcasm as she slammed her door.

He tried to avoid the part of his mind that spoke in Blaise's voice and said, "You and her both, mate."

Blasted best friends.

(&)

**A/N:** The next chapter is the big one! "Practical study," Impossible Curses, and gods/goddesses collide. I'll get writing as fast as I can, and in the meantime . . . a review on this chapter would be cherished. :)


	7. Chapter 7: The Impossible Curse

**A/N:** First and foremost, THANK YOU to all of my readers and reviewers who have been so patient and kind thus far. I hope this chapter lives up to your hopes . . . :D

**Chapter Seven: The Impossible Curse**

(&)

Tuesday evening, 7 o'clock, came much faster than expected for Ginny. Each of her classes sped by, punctuated with much gossip and debate over what the Defense outing would include. By the time Ginny, Dean, and Luna had gathered in a corner of the Entrance Hall with the rest of the Seventh Years, the anticipation hovered over the group like a thick fog.

"Ahem," said Harry, trying in vain to get all the whispers to subside.

"Oi!" shouted a new voice, and that shut everyone up—everyone except Ginny, who would recognize that voice (and its unique tone of exasperation) anywhere.

"Ron?" she asked before she could stop herself. Her brother stood beside Harry at the front of the group, along with . . . "Hermione?"

Ron winked, but turned to Harry for an explanation. The students watched, silent, rapt.

"Thanks, Ron," said Harry. "Now, as Professor Lupin is feeling a little . . . under the weather . . . this week, I've planned something different for us, with some help from my friend Hermione Granger."

_Of course! _The whispers broke out again as everyone else vocalized what Ginny was just remembering: tonight was the full moon, and Lupin—well, tonight he'd be in no fit state for teaching.

"Hermione is a consulting curse-breaker for the Ministry," Harry said, raising his voice until the whispers died down for a second time. "She's currently working on an excavation in Wales, and she _kindly_ offered to take us on a tour of the dig site." Harry shot a look at the Slytherin section of the room when he emphasized "kindly."

Hermione, meanwhile, took advantage of Harry's pause to explain more. "Tonight we'll be traveling by Portkey to the excavation site in Wales," she said.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at Dean. That explained the warning about waterproofs.

"We'll be visiting a Stone Circle," Hermione continued. Ron, beside her, whispered something to Harry, who grinned. Ginny forced her attention back the bushy-haired brunette. "Magical dating indicates that the Circle is around 3,000 years old. It was also warded with Druidic Protection Spells common to North Wales during that time period—which, by the way, our team has already broken, so there's no need to fear. There is, however, one more spell creating a magical residue, which recent rune analyses suggest might be an Impossible Curse."

Someone gasped and the whispers broke out again like a rush of water bursting out of a pipe. This explained everything: their recent lessons in Defense, Hermione's letter, even her indication that this was "something big." Ginny figured that if only three Impossible Curses had been discovered, then being a member of the team to study the fourth was a pretty prestigious occupation.

" . . . touch _any_ of the stones," Hermione was saying when Ginny tuned back in. The older girl was frowning in the subconscious way she did when she was making a serious command. "That is _extremely_ important. I assume you've all learned from recent lessons just what the consequences might be." Hermione's frown deepened as she surveyed the students, watching for their reaction to her words.

Ginny figured that she should probably have paid attention to the beginning of that first sentence. Then again, what she'd taken from the last Defense lesson was that Impossible Curses were bad, but she hadn't heard any examples of what happened _to you _when you got stuck with one. Maybe she hadn't been paying close enough attention then, either.

"All set?" Harry was saying now. He jerked his thumb towards the main entrance to Hogwarts. "We have to walk off the grounds to take the Portkey. Follow me, please."

Hermione stayed up front with Harry, deep in conversation with Bardot, which made Ginny smile. _Probably already drowning her in questions about where we're going. _Dean and Luna were talking in hushed, excited half-whispers as they walked out into the evening. The grounds were as beautiful as they'd been the night before, only tonight, Ginny noticed, a few wispy clouds scuttled around the face of the moon, which cast out a ring through the moisture that showed faint colors of the rainbow. Ginny always thought that was strange—as if the moon were closer than the clouds, not the other way 'round. The night wasn't cold, but for some reason, Ginny shivered.

"Pretty cool, eh, Gin?"

Ginny turned to find that Ron had drifted back to walk beside her. "You could have warned me!" she told him, giving him a joking shove.

"It was all Hermione's idea," he said. "She just invited me so I could see you—and to show me around 'her stones,' as she calls them." He rolled his eyes, but Ginny detected a note of pride in his voice.

"You've never been there before?"

"Oh, no. I'm not important enough. This stuff's only for _highly qualified curse-breaking professionals._" Ron's voice was flat with sarcasm.

"What does that make us, then?" Ginny asked. "I mean, should a bunch of untrained students be wandering about if it's really so dangerous?"

Ron gave her a sideways glance but pretended to be interested in the night sky when she tried to catch his eyes. "I don't reckon it's actually dangerous, or Hermione would never take you," he said, but he was using his "I'm-not-telling-you-something" tone.

"Ron . . ."

"Okay, well, you're technically not supposed to be there, but Hermione goes after hours all the time, so as long as you stick with the group, she reckons everyone will be fine."

Ginny was shocked. "That doesn't sound like something Hermione would sanction," was all she could think to say.

"You're right," Ron said, now sounding thoughtful. "She chooses the strangest moments, but when Hermione does decide to break the rules, she certainly goes all the way."

(&)

"This is stupid," Pansy muttered to Draco at the outskirts of the group. "We came to this special lesson just to see some old rocks?"

Draco saw her point. Standing atop a small mountain in the Middle of Nowhere, North Wales, in a rather cold wind, at night, with only the full moon (currently blocked by clouds) and some lit wands for light, was not his idea of a fun-filled Tuesday evening. Then again, most normal people wouldn't describe Draco's daily activities as "fun-filled," either, so he supposed he couldn't complain. In fact, as he looked around at the misshapen humps of gray rock that formed a circle around him, he thought this place carried an eerie familiarity that made it both intriguing and, well, _creepy_.

"I know it's dark—sorry about that, had to be after hours, you understand—but if you look down here in the center of the ring, you'll see the small pit where we've dug out another stone," Hermione called to the group.

Draco, half-interested despite himself, followed the stream of light from Hermione's wand to a hole at her feet. It didn't look deep, and he could see more of the gray rock where a layer of sod had been peeled away.

"This stone was the indication that we were dealing with an Impossible Curse," said Hermione. "You might not be able to see them there in the back—"

"—Thank Merlin," said Pansy.

"—but there are runes on this stone from a Welsh Druidic alphabet normally reserved for the highest practices of magic. Here." Hermione cleared her throat.

"Oh, no, she's actually going to read them?" said Pansy to Blaise. He chuckled and she looked smug.

"Shut up," Draco said to both of them. "I don't know why, but I actually want to hear this."

Pansy glared at him and drifted further away from the group of students in protest.

And then Hermione read.

"_Nine it took this curse to make,_

_So nine it takes this curse to break:_

_One to find the Hounds of Hell_

_And lead them to the Holy Well._

_Two to sail the ocean's edge,_

_Underneath, and back again;_

_A fourth and fifth will chase the tide_

_And join the Deadly Horsemen's ride._

_For three, a quest to burning ice_

_Must end in death if 'twill suffice,_

_And the last will choose between_

_A prince, a pauper, and a queen._

_Twelve moons will wax and wane before_

_These chosen nine will live no more,_

_Instead to find themselves replaced_

_With sacred souls 'neath mortal face."_

Draco shivered. His head was filled with jarring vibrations, as if huge church bells had been ringing inside his skull. _What the hell?_ Surely reading a curse out loud—even in translation—didn't mean it had just been set off—did it?

"Don't worry," Hermione called to them as if reading his mind. "The words themselves aren't enough to—"

Suddenly, the moon came out from behind the clouds, and Hermione gasped, cutting off her own words and making everybody jump.

She was starting at the hole in the ground, Draco realized, and as he squinted at it, he saw that part of it was glowing, casting a silver-blue light on the turned-up sod that surrounded it.

"Of course," Hermione breathed. She was frozen, staring at the center stone with a dazed smile on her face.

"Er—Hermione? Care to explain?" Ron Weasley called from behind her. He was leaning with his arms crossed against a stone from the outer circle, looking bored.

"Moon runes," she said, not tearing her eyes from the glowing stone as she swung a bag off her shoulder and began rummaging in it. "They show up beneath the light of the full moon, and only then. It's lucky we're here, or I'd never have noticed these!" She was absolutely beaming now, pulling a tiny notebook and a quill from her bag, which she then let fall from her shoulder to the ground. "Must be something more about the curse, or perhaps a signature . . ." Her voice trailed off as she sketched the runes in her book, her eyes darting between the glowing runes and the paper in her hands.

"Hey, Draco, come look at this," Pansy called, quiet enough so that only Blaise and Draco could hear her. As they peeled away from the group, Draco noticed the other Weasley, the female one, trying (unsuccessfully) to convince Lovegood and Thomas to back away from a couple of the outer stones. He smirked. Gryffindors were so obedient. It was quite cute, really.

"What's up?" Blaise asked Pansy as they drew even with her.

"It's this stone," she said. "Look, there's something written on it."

She had her wand lit and directed at a spot near the middle of her stone. Sure enough, Draco could see tiny scratches, a bit too precise to be coincidence.

"Probably just vandalism," he said. "These have been around for ages."

Pansy frowned. "Could be. But they look like runes to me."

"Rune vandals?" Blaise grinned at his friends, who ignored him.

"Check the stones next to this one," Pansy said to them. "I'm just curious . . ."

Resisting the urge to tease Pansy for her newfound interest, Draco took the stone to the left of hers, while Blaise took his wand light to the one on the right. The extra light from the moon helped Draco find tiny scratches on his stone after a few seconds.

He lifted a finger and slowly traced the stone. "Hey," he said, half to himself. "I've got them, too . . ."

(&)

Hermione had started ignoring the rest of the group upon her discovery of the moon runes, and so it wasn't until she had finished copying them and glanced up that she realized no one was paying attention. Most of the students were talking in the center of the stones, but she was alarmed to see that a few others had drifted to the sides of the circle. Some—including Harry and Ron, she thought, when _would_ those boys learn?—were actually _leaning up against the stones_. Did no one listen? She sighed.

"Hey!" she said, but no one heard her. She realized what she would have to do: a jet of sparks ought to give everybody a good scare. Gripping her wand in one hand with a grim smile, Hermione started to take a few steps backward, except she misjudged her footing and stepped in a rabbit hole. Her ankle twisted under her and she went sprawling backward—she threw back her hands to stop the fall—they collided with something very solid and _painful—_

And then a brilliant flash of white spiraled down to nothingness.

(&)

"They're rather oddly . . . speckled, aren't they?" asked a tall, solidly-built redhead, poking Ron with his toe. Hermione thought she must have hit her head very hard, because the redheaded man was wearing some kind of robe that fell to his knees in the Classical style, and lace-up sandals straight out of Ancient Greece.

"Don't be silly, Govannon," a wicked female voice said from Hermione's right. One glance revealed a cloaked figure standing over, of all people, Pansy Parkinson. "I think he looks just like you."

The redheaded—gladiator? God?—glared in a most un-godlike manner.

"No, I got a speckled one, too," said a new voice, a woman again, this time peering down at Ginny Weasley, who lay prone and unconscious in the sort of white nothingness where they all seemed to be. The woman speaking wore a toga of her own and had hair the color of rubies, which made Hermione think perhaps she was the gladiator-god's sister.

"I'm quite pleased with mine," said a drawling voice from across the circle. "He's rather good-looking, which is only fitting." Hermione wasn't surprised at all to see its owner standing over Draco Malfoy. Somehow the pair seemed meant for each other, from their remarkably similar arrogant tones to their platinum hair.

A noise of distaste drew Hermione's attention, and she matched it with a tall, dark-skinned god who stood over Blaise Zabini. Eyes wide, Hermione followed the figures around the circle, and she also saw a blue-eyed goddess with a rabbit on her shoulder next to Luna Lovegood; a stocky man wearing a circlet, looking regal beside Harry; and a small, wiry man with curly, dark locks to match his skin beside Dean Thomas.

Just then, a new face appeared in Hermione's field of vision. This one was very close, as it belonged to a woman standing above her, one of the most beautiful women Hermione had ever seen. Dark curls fell over her eyes as she said, "Mine appears to be awake." She said it with a hint of pride, as if Hermione were a dog that had just demonstrated a rather impressive and unexpected trick. Hermione might have thought this odd, if she could register an emotion besides shock and awe.

"Impossible," said the god above Blaise. He squinted across at Hermione, who tried to shift where she lay. Muscles protested from all over her body, so she gave up, but the god seemed to have noticed, because his mouth had become a thin line.

"So do we start now? You know, taking over?" rasped the black-cloaked figure near Pansy.

"They are possessed of our souls," said the goddess standing over Luna, "but it will take time to control them. A year—that's what is written in the curse."

"A year?!"

Luna's goddess looked across to Draco's companion god, who had spoken. "We've waited for three thousand, Arawn. Surely you can stand one more."

"We wrote the damned curse," he countered. "Couldn't we have made it whatever length of time we wanted?"  
But the woman above Hermione was shaking her head. "Arawn, don't you remember anything of your rule in the Underworld? Humans are strong-willed, and what we undertake will be a challenge even for us gods."

After that, he lowered his voice, but Hermione thought she heard him mumble something that sounded like "bollocks."

"So we're still trapped in Nevermore until we succeed?" asked the redheaded female next to Ginny.

"There might be more freedom to move in dreams, if we can connect with Gurdy," said Hermione's goddess, but she sounded uncertain.

The others started talking all at once, each raising his or her voice to be heard over the rest. The cacophony pierced Hermione's already aching head like a volley of arrows. She closed her eyes, as if blocking out the view of them—stark against the whiteness of wherever-they-were—would help block out the sound, too. To her surprise, it started to work. They were fading . . . fading . . . gone.

Hermione woke up.

(&)

**A/N:** Dun dun DUN! Gosh, that curse took me AGES to write. I tried soo hard to make the rhymes fit without it becoming too cheesy. Still not sure if I succeeded. ;)

Also, a note on the gods and goddesses: They are inspired by research I've done on Welsh gods and goddesses. I've tried to base my characters off real mythology, but I also need them to work with my story, so I've taken some creative liberties (I've invented a goddess and made a few others composites of many different deities). Also, while I've tried to keep everything within the confines of Welsh mythology, some other Celtic cultural/mythological influences may have leaked in. Oops. All that being said, no offense is intended toward anyone's actual religious beliefs!

Last but not least, please make my day and leave a review!


	8. Chapter 8: Try Your Best Not To Die

**A/N: **Whew! A short chapter, for which I apologize. I wanted to make sure I got this up towards the middle of the week so that I can update more over the weekend. :) It features Severus because I just couldn't help myself . . . followed by much shock and denial.

Thank you thank you THANK YOU to my lovely reviewers. I take all your praise, advice, and constructive criticism to heart. Please keep it coming! And enjoy!

**Chapter Eight: Try Your Best Not To Die**

(&)

Severus Snape surveyed the gaggle of mud-slathered, filthy students currently filling up his office. His dark eyes, glittering in the moonlight that striped the room, slid from one Weasley to another, past Granger, to land on Potter. He managed to suppress a smile. Oh, yes. He was going to enjoy this.

"Tell me again, Miss Granger," he said, his gaze not leaving Harry, who looked sullenly back. "You say you tripped and fell on your little adventure, and . . . activated a three-thousand-year-old Impossible Curse?"

Hermione sighed. "Well . . . yes, Prof—I mean, Headmaster. I think it happened because all nine of us were touching the stones in the circle at the same time . . . even though I _expressly_ told everyone not to." She gave Harry and Ron her "I'm-very-disappointed-in-you-_again_" look.

"And yet you broke your own rule," Snape pointed out, standing up from his desk and crossing the office in his smooth, graceful fashion until he stood before her.

"I fell!" Hermione said. "It was dark, it happened completely by accident—"

"—And yet, had you executed a bit more care, it would not have happened at all." Snape allowed himself the barest hint of a smirk. "In fact, one _might_ be correct in wondering why untrained students were stumbling about on a highly dangerous and historically important site _in the middle of the night_ to begin with." His face never changed as he spoke, but Hermione flinched at every word.

Just then, the Weasley of the female variety cleared her throat. "It was an authorized excursion, Headmaster," she said, her voice quiet at first but gaining volume as she spoke. "Doesn't that mean _you _approved it?"

He turned the fullest extent of his gaze on her, but she didn't lower her eyes. "Incorrect as usual, Miss Weasley. I believe Mr. Potter approached the Deputy Headmistress instead . . . More certain he would get an affirmative answer that way, I daresay." Snape's eyes drifted back to Potter as he spoke. The boy was still glaring, but he didn't rise to the bait. Shame.

Ever since he'd learned Snape's secret, Potter seemed to think that the malice of former days was behind them. Snape could tell from the boy's stilted attempts at bare politeness whenever the two were forced to speak. Worse, Snape could see it in the boy's eyes, behind their shoddily constructed wall of disinterest: pity. The boy _pitied_ Severus Snape.

It did not bear thinking of.

Just then, a movement in the back of the group tore Snape from his thoughts. It was Draco, looking rather paler than usual, a shade of white that would have been corpselike on any other person. Even more alarmingly, the boy didn't seem to have noticed that he had fallen sideways into a cluster of mud that now decorated his right cheek and hairline. Seeing that, Snape knew he really should be worried about the boy's state of mind.

"Miss Granger," the Headmaster snapped, making Hermione jump. "Is it true that only these nine students have been affected?"

She nodded.

"And I am correct in believing that you have translated the Impossible Curse in question?"  
"M-most of it. I discovered a possible addition to it tonight—moon runes."

Snape took barely a moment to process this information before continuing. "And I am also correct in assuming that you have not determined the effects of said Impossible Curse?"

She hesitated.

"Miss Granger, a simple 'yes' or 'no' will suffice."  
She narrowed her eyes at him while Ron shifted under the burden of barely-maintained rage beside her. "After the curse was triggered, well . . . I had a bit of a . . . vision. I was in a sort of in-between place—I think it was called Nevermore—and whatever I saw there might have pertained to the effects of the curse . . . but it's all very hazy . . ." Her voice trailed off at Snape's darkening expression.

"It appears that Granger needs some time to remember how, exactly, you will all be meeting your unfortunate ends," he said, his voice low and so cold that Luna shivered. "Perhaps you could let us know in a few weeks, Miss Granger? A month?"  
"She's the only chance we've got!" Harry shouted. Hermione was staring so intently at the floor that she appeared to be trying to sink through it. "She knows the runes. She had the—vision thing. She's probably the only person alive who's smart enough to figure it out—"

"—and she's also the reason why you're all Cursed," Snape told him.

Ron shifted again, this time rather violently, but Hermione grabbed him by the arm and pinned him to her side.

"Miss Granger," said Snape, his voice just louder than a whisper. "I have reason to believe you will shortly be unemployed." She shrank away from him again, but didn't protest. "Fortunately, you can dedicate your newly-acquired free time to translating the final runes and determining what, exactly, will happen to your classmates under the effects of this curse." He glanced over the rest of the group: the three Slytherins, the Lovegood girl, that tall Gryffindor, the girl Weasley, and the Golden Trio. "The rest of you will continue with your studies as if nothing has changed. We will reconvene when Miss Granger has something to report." His eyes landed on Potter at the last. "In the meantime, try your best not to die."

(&)

At any other time, Ginny would have noticed the desolate look in Hermione's eyes and either tried to help or left her alone. However, tonight was different. Tonight, ever since she'd woken up with her nose in the mud on a mountaintop in Wales, Ginny was blind to everything but her racing pulse and one continuous thought: _I can't be cursed. I can't be cursed. I can't be cursed._

"But—Hermione—what actually _happened_ to the people who got Impossible Curses before? You know, the three others?"

"Trust me, Ginny," Hermione said, her eyes blank as they stared right past the redhead to a point on the wall. "You don't want to know."

"No, I really do. I really want to know."

"Come on, Hermione," said Ron, his voice very gentle. He folded an arm around her and tugged her gently toward the doors. "Let's just get home, okay?"

Hermione nodded. Ron caught Ginny's eye over his girlfriend's bushy hair. He didn't say anything; he didn't need to. Ginny could see his sorrow and his sympathy plain on his face, in the crinkle of his skin around his blue eyes. He so wanted to help, to take this away from both of them. He would always do that, if he could, for Ginny and Hermione and for Harry, too.

But this time, he couldn't.

Ginny watched them leave the Entrance Hall, not turning away until the great doors of Hogwarts shut behind them.

(&)

By the time Ginny made it back to her dormitory, she'd replayed the events of the night in her head a few more times, from the moment the group had Portkeyed into the middle of the Stone Circle, to Hermione's lecturing, to that fateful moment when Ginny had brushed her arm against the stone whilst pulling Dean and Luna back towards the group. After that, a flash of white light; a blackness dark and empty; and then, Ginny had woken up to a fierce headache and a crack through each of the nine stones, right down their middles. Oh, yes, and she'd also woken to a sort of hopeless wail from Hermione, who then proceeded to tell the redhead and seven others that they'd just been saddled with an unbreakable curse.

A Portkey back to Hogwarts, a visit with Snape that Hermione hoped would give them answers—and finally, there Ginny stood, trying not to get mud on the tapestry outside her dormitory as she stumbled forward and muttered, "Lux." Tired, still cursed, and answer-free.

Malfoy and Zabini sat inside, not speaking. The fire gave Zabini's dark skin undertones of burnished gold, but it seemed only to burn two bright red circles onto Malfoy's pointed cheeks. In fact, the pale boy was not looking good at all. On any other person, that shade of white would be panic-inducing. He even looked a bit blue around the edges.

_Blue around the edges?_ Had Ginny lost her mind?

Feeling suddenly as if the curse was a hammer waiting to crush her with its weight, she threw herself into a chair and joined the two Slytherins in their staring contest with the fire. It was hardly worth the energy to start an argument now, she thought—and besides, senseless dislike was no way to spend what might be their last days alive.

Desperate, Ginny cast about for something to say to avoid the melodrama of her own mind.

To her surprise, Zabini spoke first. "I'll never be a kneazle-breeder," he said to no one in particular.

Ginny looked over at him, confused but gathering from his general tone of lament that this would be a disappointment. Malfoy didn't move. Not the type to succumb to false cheerfulness, Ginny said, "Well, you never know. Maybe we're just cursed to go into unsuccessful wizarding professions, and you'll live out your dream after all."

Blaise swiveled around, his jaw slack, as if Ginny's armchair had just spoken instead of the Gryffindor herself. Malfoy, on the other hand, made them both jump by laughing outright.

He laughed a little bit longer and higher than was normal (if, Ginny thought, Malfoy laughing was _ever _normal), but when he stopped, he turned and looked her full in the face. "I like sarcasm in a crisis," he said. "Don't I, Blaise?"

"I reckon you'll like sarcasm when you're dead," said Zabini in a dull voice, which only made Malfoy smile again, and Ginny felt herself smiling, too, though hers was the awkward, toothless smile she usually reserved for family reunions involving old Weasley aunts. Something about Malfoy's feverish expression and iced-over eyes gave her the creeps. It was if he were sleepwalking, able to answer every line with his usual quips but not really sitting there at all.

Ginny shivered. She knew she could get up at any time, if she really wanted to, but somehow the thought of her empty room and her cold, flat bed gave her pause. Somehow it was much easier to sit before a fire that was burning a little too hot on her face and joke about dying with two boys whom she'd despised only a few hours earlier—perhaps because the alternative was lying in the dark and thinking about it all alone.

(&)

**A/N: **Nothing makes you rethink your enemies like being cursed alongside them. ;)

I forgot to mention last chapter that the idea for moon runes comes from the wonderful J. R. R. Tolkien.

I promise ~some things are original to this fanfiction, though, starting with more plot next chapter! Haha. Please read & review!


	9. Chapter 9: Denial and a Very Big Library

**A/N: **Chapter nine at last! In which the curse affects everyone differently and Dean has some very old-fashioned thoughts about colors. Tsk tsk, Dean. ;) Enjoy!

**Chapter Nine: Denial and a Very Big Library**

(&)

Luna stared up at the stone ceiling outside the Head Boy and Girl Dormitory. Arms crossed, she barely avoided tapping her feet with impatience. She had to tell Ginny about her dream before Dean arrived to meet them . . .

"Oh, bollocks it," she muttered out loud. Both the girl and the unicorn in the tapestry eyed her warily. Their looks darkened further when she said, "Lux," but the tapestry peeled away from the wall and let her in all the same.

Luna pretended not to notice that Blaise was draped over a sofa, snoring, as she crossed the room and tried to open Ginny's door. No luck—it was locked. She jiggled the handle and thought about _Alohomora-_ing it, but before she could get that far, the door burst open, revealing an exceedingly disgruntled ginger in striped pajamas.

"Whaddya want?" said Ginny in a thick voice, opening one bleary eye.

Blaise's snoring stopped for a moment, but by the time Luna has pushed past Ginny and shut the bedroom door with a _click_, it had resumed again.

"Somehow I'm not surprised to learn that you aren't a morning person," said Luna. She shoved Ginny until the redhead bounced back onto the foot of the bed. "I had to catch you before Dean got here." The Ravenclaw began pacing across the room. "I had another strange dream last night, only this time I remembered even more of it. Dean was there—only he wasn't quite_ Dean_—I know that doesn't make sense, but hear me out—and we were . . . on horseback . . ." Luna's voice trailed off when she stopped and noticed the expression on Ginny's face. The other girl, still seated on the bed where Luna had pushed her, was watching Luna's pacing with wild eyes, now so fully open that they appeared stuck that way. In fact, Ginny was so frozen in apparent fear that she could have been a statue.

"Ginny?" Luna asked. "Are you all right?"

"You—you—what's wrong with you?" Ginny gasped out.

Luna raised a hand to her own hair and then her face, as if testing to see that she was still in one piece. "What do you mean? I'm fine . . ."

But Ginny was shaking her head. "No—I mean—can't you see it? The color? It's all over you—like a pearly white sheen—"

Luna, who had always been prone to fear of unseen horrors, began to feel a slight panicky sensation flutter in her heart. "What do you mean?" she said again. She spun about, looking for a mirror, and when she noticed one leaning on Ginny's desk, she practically sprinted across to check herself in it.

Yet she saw what she always saw while looking in the mirror: a teenaged girl who would be plain-faced were it not for her widely-spaced, huge blue eyes, which gave her a rather fey appearance, topped off with dirty blond waves that needed a good brushing on this particular Wednesday morning. "Ginny," she sighed, turning back toward her friend, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Ginny, pale beneath her freckles, hurried across to where Luna was standing. She looked in the mirror, then back at Luna, then into the mirror again. "It's there." She pointed, her finger shaking as it made a ring around Luna's face.

Luna saw only air. Beginning to worry, she put a gentle hand on Ginny's shoulder and said, very quietly, "Ginny . . . There's nothing."

But Ginny wasn't paying attention. She now stood transfixed by her own reflection, a very un-Ginny-like occupation that would have prompted a few good digs on any other day. "I've got one, too," she whispered, her voice catching on the last word. Luna was afraid she might start crying. "Mine's all—orange and yellow and gold, like sunlight."

Luna put her hands on Ginny's shoulders and tugged her away from the mirror, so that she was looking into the girl's eyes instead. "Ginny," she said. "Don't panic. I don't . . . I don't see what you see, but that doesn't mean you're—" Luna hurried through the end of the sentence "—_mad_, or anything. Listen." Ginny allowed herself to be led across the room as Luna spoke. This time, Luna took a seat beside her at the foot of the bed, the mattress squeaking in a pleasantly normal, everyday sort of way. It was quite a comforting sound, considering the situation.

"I came here to tell you about my dream. Remember?" Luna waited for a reaction, and after a moment, Ginny nodded, obviously trying hard to focus on her friend's words. "Well, it's not important, except that it felt very real, just like that other one I had before—before the curse. And I think my dream was a clue. I think it was telling me my part, my Impossible Task." Ginny's gaze had grown more direct, more aware, with Luna's words. "If it was a true dream, then that means I can do my part to break the curse, sometime in the future. It means . . . we have hope."

Luna watched her words sink in. As Ginny nodded one more time, pointedly avoiding looking anywhere but into Luna's eyes, the Ravenclaw girl could tell that her words had done their job. Ginny wasn't going to give up at the first sign of the curse in action. She wasn't going to panic when she needed to focus. That was all that mattered.

Nevermind that the dream hadn't exactly been comforting. Nevermind that Dean had died at the end.

(&)

Blaise watched Draco push eggs across his plate with a spare bit of toast. He couldn't remember Draco saying anything since that morning, when he greeted Blaise with a toe-nudge and "Breakfast." And before that, the now-harshly-pale boy hadn't said anything since the night before, when he'd said "Sleep here, if you like," and shut himself up in his room.

Blaise took a sip of tea. Something had to be done.

"Ahhhh," Pansy said as she flung her arms out wide in a stretch before taking a seat at their table. "Morning, you two."

Blaise choked on his tea. The Slytherin girl seemed positively cheery—and not just "Pansy cheery," which usually meant "I've-got-in-some-prime-bullying-today," but downright regular-person-cheery. She was _smiling_, for Merlin's sake. She offered to pour Blaise some more tea, and he nearly fell off his seat.

"What's _wrong_ with you?" he hissed as he righted himself. "Did you forget—" he glanced to either side before lowering his voice even more "—that we got bloody _cursed_ last night?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes, you know, it was so trivial it just slipped my mind," she said. She selected two wedges of toast and began lathering them with marmalade.

"Why are you _happy_ about it?"

Pansy shrugged. "I don't know, I just feel—I feel _good_, you know? Better than I have in ages." She swallowed half a piece of toast in one bite.

Come to think of it, she _did _look good. Not in _that _way—Blaise was definitely not interested, in case anyone asked—but she looked better than usual. It was as if she had sucked all the color out of Draco's cheeks and added it to her lips, her face, the glint in her eyes. Normally a little pug-faced, Pansy's looks were much improved by the genuine spark that lit her from within this morning. Blaise squinted at her.

"Maybe you two just need to embrace it," she said, chewing steadily through her second piece of toast. "I mean, we don't even know that it does anything bad to us yet—"

"It's a curse," Draco said. His voice was sharp as venom. "They're not generally intended to bestow happiness and long life."

"—and I bet it'll be awhile until that Mudblood Granger finds anything out," she continued, ignoring him. "Might as well face facts." She grinned, and the sight was disturbing.

"You've got crumbs in your teeth," Draco said. He stood and marched away from their table, straight-backed and stiff.

Pansy watched him go before turning to Blaise and shaking her head. "Doomed," she told him, helping herself to more toast.

(&)

"Gin, you're going to get a stiff neck, doing this all the time," Dean said. "If you ask me, it's kind of cool—" At Luna's quick shake of the head, Dean cut himself off.

Ginny had spent the walk to breakfast turning her whole neck and head whenever someone talked, trying not to acknowledge the fact that she could see her best friends' auras. Dean didn't really see how this helped, but Ginny seemed to have perfected the maneuver in such a way that it allowed her to avoid looking straight at the outline of color.

"You're just bitter about yours," Ginny said, though she didn't turn to face him.

_At least she can still take the mickey_, he thought to himself. That meant Ginny was treating this situation like every other one in her life. It had been pretty annoying when he was her boyfriend, but right about now, he was glad she could crack a joke, even if she couldn't quite crack a smile. "Well," he said, "I have to admit, it's a little bit . . . _gayer_ than I was expecting."

"Honestly, Dean," Luna said. "I wouldn't have seen you as the type to care."  
Dean stopped walking in the middle of the Entrance Hall and turned to face her. "I'm not sure how to respond to that—"

"It used to be quite a manly color," Ginny said, arranging herself so that she faced them both. "And a show of wealth. In fact, pink is—"

"Can you not refer to it as 'pink'?" Dean said. "If I recall correctly, you first called it 'dawnlike.' Let's stick with that for now."

Luna laughed. Actually _laughed_—the nerve. "I don't think that's a word," she said.

"Well, I don't—"

Just then, the door to the Great Hall swung open, letting out a burst of sound. The chirping and chattering of students at breakfast was cut off as the door clicked shut, but Draco Malfoy's footsteps continued to ring in the awkward silence and he walked toward where they were standing.

Ginny, who had been facing that direction, froze at the sight of him.

Luna gave her an odd look. "What's wrong?"

"It's—Malfoy's color. I think I saw it last night, but . . ." Ginny, forgetting about maneuvers and avoidance and denial, turned her eyes to Luna's. "This morning it's gone."

(&)

Getting the last word in before making a dramatic exit was probably the only activity that could have offered a modicum of improvement to Draco's mood this morning. Still, as he relished the way his heels crushed into the stairs during his climb from the Entrance Hall, something was definitely lacking. Perhaps it was the observation that Pansy's good mood didn't look nearly as crushed as he'd hoped it would at his words.

Or maybe it was the sneaking suspicion that she was right. With Granger as their sole hope and protector, they were doomed.

No offense meant to Granger (for once). Draco was bitter, yes, but he wasn't blind. Granger was a genius, there was no way around it. But even the brightest witch of this century would have a lot of trouble digging up information on a three-thousand-year-old Impossible Curse. And even assuming she could succeed at that, she'd have a lot more trouble breaking it.

Draco sighed and ran a quivering hand through his hair. He'd never been one for tremors before, but he seemed to have developed a constant shiver in the course of the night. Just another fun side effect of being cursed, he thought.

"Malfoy!" a voice shouted from behind him.  
Too surprised to be affronted at being thus addressed, he spun to find Weasley sprinting toward him. She must have rushed up the stairs after he crossed her path in the Entrance Hall. "Yes?" he asked, outwardly calm. Inside he was thinking, _A willing provider of more dramatic exits and last words? Maybe today _will_ get better._

"Give me a second," she said when she drew even with him, catching her breath. He crossed his arms, waiting. Her eyes were fixed somewhere around his knees.

"Well?" he asked after he'd given her at least 60 seconds of awkward silence and she seemed nowhere closer to talking.

"Are—you—okay?" she asked, still catching her breath.

His eyebrows rose. "Perhaps I should be asking you that question."

She waved a hand, ignoring him. "I mean, you seem a bit, you know, _off_."

It was the last straw. Arms falling to his sides, Draco said, "Yes, five points to Gryffindor for that _keen_ observation, Weasley. I _am_ a bit off. Could it be because _I'm surrounded by idiots_? I've been cursed because of idiots. And I'm expecting one of these aforementioned idiots to solve my problem, probably holed up in some dingy Muggle apartment with a few books and a freckly companion—"

Ginny, whose face had gotten redder and redder as Draco went on, was about to burst when he stopped abruptly. After a few moments of stunned silence, she opened her mouth to counter him, but he held up a hand.

"That's it," he said. "I can't believe I didn't think of it before."

Ginny mumbled something like "Maybe _you're_ the idiot—" but Draco waved his hand in her face again. She glared at the offending hand as if she'd like to chop it off.

"You actually helped, Weasley. I don't believe it."

Ginny had a list of several things she wanted to say, but she chose the least problematic one, which was, "What the bloody hell are you on about?"

Draco's eyes finally focused on her again. "I've got an empty mansion. A mansion with a library. A very old library. Full of very old, expensive books."

"That's grand," she said, voice flat. "How fantastic for you—"

"—A_ very old, very big _library." He enunciated each word as if she were a child. "Now, I'm not saying it's _three thousand years old_, but . . ."

Understanding spread across Ginny's face. "But it's a right sight better than a few books and a freckly companion."

Draco quirked a lip at her. "Come on, Weasley, we've got a letter to write."

(&)

**A/N: **Props to **Cauchy** for catching Ginny's newly-developed "aura thing" in the last chapter . . . ausgezeichnet! Also thanks to **izzyp120**, **DobbyWinky**, **Queen of Night**, **Dev the Rogue**, and **Marinka** for your reviews of ch8. I hope this chapter was to your liking! Please read & review!


	10. Chapter 10: Decisions, Decisions

**A/N: **Hello again, my pretties! Thank you SO much for your continued reviews. I'm sorry this chapter took so long . . . various life things got in the way. But I'm going to try extra hard to make sure it doesn't happen again! And in order to appease you . . . I tried to write an extra long one. If you like the length, let me know. As of now, I'm planning to keep writing long chapters as the plot thickens. ;)

**Chapter Ten: Decisions, Decisions**

(&)

Ginny had a system when it came to making difficult decisions.

Not twelve hours earlier, she'd helped Draco compose an invitation to Malfoy Manor ("Probably best if it comes from you," she told him, eyebrow raised, as he tried to force her to write it). They'd watched, silent, shoulder-to-shoulder, as his eagle owl carried the parchment farther—farther still—out of sight.

Then they'd looked at each other and given an awkward sort of shrug before going their separate ways, to classes, to lunch, to homework, and before she knew it, Ginny was walking down the fifth floor corridor to the Prefects' Bathroom, towel in hand, ready for a good soak.

Baths were ideal decision-making locale. For one thing, they meant quiet, uninterrupted reflection—an important detail if one lived in a place like The Burrow. For another, they were warm, soothing, and often bubbly, which allowed Ginny to forget about all her problems except the one at hand until the water began to cool and it was time to get out—incidentally, around the time that she usually came to a decision.

"Mediterranean," Ginny said when she arrived at the Prefects' Bathroom. The door clicked, and she pushed her way inside. Ginny was careful to throw the bolt across the inside of the door—so careful that she checked it. Twice. She really didn't want to think about being intruded upon mid-bath.

Tossing her towel to the side of the giant pool, which had filled with steaming water upon her entry, Ginny hurried over to the selection of the taps. Along with shampoos and soaps, different smells and flavors were labeled in tiny script. She hesitated, but finally landed upon lemon oil and honey bubbles. She let them flow into the bath as she stripped out of her pajamas.

Shivering, Ginny wrapped her arms around herself even as she stepped into the deliciously hot water. It felt strange to be so unclothed in a giant room in the middle of Hogwarts, when anyone could walk by outside. The bathroom was luxurious, and the ingredients pouring into her bath were more elegant than any she'd ever tried—but she still felt curiously exposed.

For a while, the discomfort kept her from her decision. She paddled around the pool, stopping to lean against the wall and breathe in the honey-lemon steam rising off the water. Finally, after several circles around the pool, Ginny dunked her hair under the water, and when she came back to the surface, she felt relaxed.

It was time to decide whether or not to leave Hogwarts.

(&)

"Harry? May I come in?"

Messy black hair flew out of his eyes as Harry glanced up from his desk. Lupin stood in the doorway of his office, an expression of concern drawing lines across his forehead.

"Of course," said Harry. He jumped up to move some papers so that Lupin could occupy the only other chair in the rather cramped enclosure. Harry thought Snape might have given him an old broom closet for an office out of spite.

Lupin took a seat, watching as Harry moved to a kettle in the corner of the room.

"Tea?"

"Yes, please," said Lupin. A few taps of his wand and some shuffling later, Harry set two steaming mugs before them. He sat behind his desk, fidgeting with some papers on his desk, not meeting Lupin's eyes.

"You seemed a bit distracted in our lesson earlier, Harry. Is everything all right?"

Harry glanced up at the other man. Lupin had always worn his age a bit poorly, but fatherhood gave him energy and life that poured out of him despite the gray hair about his ears. Even tonight, the night after the full moon, Lupin had a spark of vitality in his eyes that made up for the pale sheen of his features.

"Did you get to see Tonks today?" Harry asked suddenly.

Lupin frowned at Harry's evasion. "Yes . . . she Flooed me. Teddy's started crawling, and it's driving her mad—" A chuckle broke through his consternation at the thought. Then he sobered. "Harry . . . is this . . . about Ginny?"

Harry, whose tea had been midway to his mouth, dribbled some onto his hands in surprise. "What?"

Lupin sighed. "I know you care about her, and perhaps even came here to be with her, but—"

"It's not about Ginny," Harry said, more quickly than he'd intended, his cheeks flushing red.

Lupin looked unconvinced, but left it and chose a different tack. "Perhaps you are . . . feeling overwhelmed by teaching? Merlin knows I had some bad days starting out." He grinned. "And still do have them, to be fair."

Harry managed a smile at that. "It's a lot harder than I ever gave my professors credit for." He wrapped his hands around his mug, slouching toward the heat, and the gesture made him seem about thirteen again. "I thought you were good before, but I didn't realize how much work it took to be that way."

"Yes, well, I'm glad I'm finally getting the credit I deserve."

Harry's smile grew wry as they fell into an amiable silence. Lupin's eyes followed the edges of the office, starting with the olive green wallpaper peeling away from one corner and ending a short distance across the room, where a small cupboard and a bookshelf took up about half of the available space. He took a sip of tea, and then another, reading the spines of the books. Then he said, "Why did you come here, Harry?"

Harry turned thoughtful, but not evasive, as if he'd known this particular question was coming. "Actually," he said, "I'm not sure I can explain it. I mean, I know it sounds stupid, but I think I came because I needed some time. Before I head out into the real world."

Lupin set down his mug on a wobbly stack of books that was serving as a side table. "That doesn't sound stupid. On the contrary, I think it's a very wise decision."

Harry blinked. "You do?"

Lupin's voice was gentle when he spoke. "You've never had a life of your own, Harry. I know you built one for yourself despite everything—I'm not saying that wasn't real, or important. But now you can live day to day without fear."

Harry's throat suddenly felt a bit tight. He opened his mouth, couldn't form the words, and closed it again.

Lupin reached for his tea again. "I have to say, though, you might've picked a less stressful occupation."

Harry smiled. "Right," he said, "I'm discovering that now." He grimaced at the pile of papers closest to him before glancing back at his fellow professor. "It doesn't bother me, though, not really," he said, serious again. "It's Hogwarts. There's something about it . . . despite everything that happened here . . . that just makes me feel safe. Protected from the demands of, you know, the Ministry and everyone." He picked a knot of wood on his desktop, a wash of awkwardness heating his cheeks again. He plowed onward. "I think that's why I came here, when Snape asked. It's an escape, and it's a rest."

"The calm before the storm," Lupin said, his voice rueful. He knew as well as Harry did that, someday, The Boy Who Lived would be wanted out there again.

He also might've known that Harry would want to leave, someday, probably sooner rather than later. Harry would get restless. No one with his past could be content to live at Hogwarts forever. But for now, if it made him happy . . .

Lupin drained the dregs of his tea and stood up, careful not to dislodge any books in the process. "Well, Harry, I should really get back to my lesson plan for those fourth years tomorrow," he said. "Are you still okay with our original idea?"

"Oh, fine, yeah." Harry stood up to show Lupin out, which involved a lot less movement than normal since the room was so tiny.

Lupin paused in the doorway and turned back. "Harry—I should hope this is obvious, but just in case it's not—I'm here, if there's ever something you need to talk about." He lowered his voice. "After all you've done to talk sense into me, I should like to return the favor, if I ever could."

Harry smiled. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth, hesitating. The force of Lupin's gaze, as insightful as ever, distracted him from his internal battle. To tell him, or not to tell him? Where would he even begin?

"Th—Thanks," Harry told Lupin at last. He gave the other man what he hoped was a grateful nod. "It means a lot."

Lupin returned his nod with a curt movement, and then disappeared beyond the threshold of the office. Harry took delicate steps across the room, shut the door, and then turned and leaned against it, face in his hands. No matter how much better Lupin made him feel about teaching, there was nothing the man could do about a 3,000-year-old Impossible Curse.

(&)

The fifth floor corridor was dark by the time Ginny stepped out of the Prefects' Bathroom. She was glad to see the hallway so deserted: she wore her striped pajamas; slippers; and a towel around her head, turban-style. She didn't exactly want to be spotted this way.

Then again, she was feeling so relaxed that, were anyone to stumble upon her, she might not care. The smell of lemon and honey drifted from her hair and her skin, which felt softer than ever, although it had gone a bit wrinkly towards the end. Most importantly, Ginny had made up her mind. She felt as light as if a load of bricks had been hefted from her back.

Humming to herself, she rounded the corner toward the staircase, lit every few meters by flickering torchlight. About halfway down to the fourth floor, Ginny noticed the eerie silence. _It couldn't be that late, could it? _She picked up her pace.

Almost as soon as she'd thought it, she noticed a person coming toward her up the stairs. The figure was hard to make out because of the bright light surrounding it—wandlight or lantern, Ginny couldn't say. She did, however, know one particular person who'd be wandering the castle halls, seeking out students to punish. _Filch_. Whispering some rather creative swear words under her breath, Ginny searched for a place to hide, but there were no forgiving alcoves on this particular staircase.

Ginny didn't know the precise rules regarding use of the Prefects' Bathroom, but she figured that Filch would consider her a rule breaker no matter what the circumstances, so she gave up trying to hide and stood ready to face his wrath.

"Weasley?" The figure drew nearer. With a voice like that, it was decidedly _not_ Filch.

Ginny let out a breath of relief. Her eyes still adjusting to the light, it took a moment for Ginny to recognize the girl before her, even as they drew even on the staircase. When she did, she gasped, and her towel dislodged itself, sliding sideways off her wet hair to the floor. "Pansy?"

The Slytherin girl was eyeing Ginny's towel, which had landed on her toe, with distaste. Kicking it away from her, she said, "Head Girl, out of bed past curfew? Are you sure you're allowed to bend the rules like that?" She smirked. "I should report you."

Ginny was paying the barest amount of attention to Pansy's words; she was too distracted by what had originally made her gasp. The bright light around Pansy wasn't wandlight, nor was it a lantern. It was her aura. She was literally surrounded by a glowing outline of _brightest white_.

"Weasley?" Pansy waved a hand before Ginny's eyes. "You in there?"

Ginny took a step back up the stairs. "I'm—what? R-report me?"

"You know, Prefect Duty? Making the rounds?" Pansy seemed a bit thrown by Ginny's behavior, though she was hiding it with a sneer. "It's my turn tonight . . ."

Ginny head began to spin. She didn't know why it mattered so much what color Pansy's aura was; but she knew that something about it made her uncomfortable, and she needed to get away, _now_. "Right," she said. She started climbing down the stairs, past Pansy, eyes trained on the Slytherin as she passed. "Well, good luck tonight. Sharp eyes, and all that. See you—at the meeting tomorrow." With that, she turned and hurried away down the steps, leaving Pansy to glare at her retreating back.

By the time Ginny had skidded up the tapestry outside her dormitory, saying, "Lux, Lux, all right, Lux," she was out of breath and still dizzied by her encounter. Throwing herself into the room, she collapsed in the closest armchair, gasping for air.

"Oh, Merlin, what's happened now?"

Ginny shot upright just as quickly as she'd been seated. It was Draco, lounging by the fire, with—of all things—a tartan blanket stretching from his toes to his chin.

"Malfoy?" She rounded the sofa and chose another chair not far from his pillowed head. "Are you . . . ill?"

"I'm just bloody cold, all right? Besides, I asked you first."

"What? Oh." Ginny felt herself go red. She was still wearing her pajamas (she hastily crossed her arms over her chest) and her hair, left unguarded by her abandoned towel, was looping in wet, messy curls in every direction. "It's nothing. I just . . . had a bath."

Draco lowered his chin and gave her "a look," which added to his current ridiculousness, combined as it was with a tartan blanket and pale hair sticking up where it hit the sofa cushion. "Aren't baths supposed to be relaxing? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Ginny tilted her head, watching him. He was acting a lot nicer than usual, which she might attribute to his vulnerability under his apparent illness—she filed that thought away for later. But there was something about what he'd said: "like you've seen a ghost." And Pansy's aura, pure-white and blinding—it had seemed like that, in a way. Ghostly. Hungry.

Ginny laughed at herself, nervous laughter, and Draco's look turned curious, but she didn't bother explaining—he'd only use it as ammunition for teasing, she was sure. She decided to change the subject. "You reckon Hermione got our letter by now?"

Draco's eyes drifted to the fire. "Probably. It'll take until tomorrow night to get a response, though. And that's if she doesn't take a while to think on it."

Ginny watched the flames, too. They were lively, dancing across the wood tonight, mysterious and seductive. "I don't think she'll need time."

She felt Draco turn his head to glance at her, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the flame. "What makes you so sure?" he asked, his voice sardonic.

She shrugged. "I just know Hermione. I know she loves libraries, for one, so she'll be secretly excited to have yours all to herself—" Ginny smiled at the thought "—but she'll also be determined to fix this. And she's logical. She knows your offer is her best place to start."

He rustled, ostensibly adjusting his blanket. Ginny blinked and watched him instead of the fire, now. He wasn't looking at her when he said, "What about you? Are you going to stay in school?"

Ginny wanted to tell him her decision. She felt it tugging on her, the desire to talk about the future and make plans to break the curse together as if they were friends. That's when she realized it: this wasn't bad, this conversation as if they were easygoing companions. This was a side of Draco Malfoy she'd never seen before, the side that opened up whatever was hidden beneath his hard diamond crust. And that's why she didn't trust it.

"I may," she forced herself to say, shrugging. "Haven't decided yet." She swallowed a lump in her throat. "Have you?"  
Draco's eyes were as hard and flat as ice, shielding over the lake that was swimming underneath. "Dunno," he replied. He flicked his gaze to the fire again.

"Well. Get w—warm." Ginny gave the arm of the sofa an awkward pat and stood to leave. He let her go, not saying a word. Because that was the thing with Draco Malfoy: he might be nice at midnight, but she never knew how he would treat her in the morning.

(&)

Ginny spent lunch the next day tracking down all the Prefects and reminding them about the meeting that night. Throughout the process, she was forced to look through scores of students, against her wishes—she certainly wasn't aching to go finding out everyone's auras. In fact, on the whole, the idea disturbed her. Despite all that, she noticed a curious oddity. The students who hadn't been cursed that night in Wales had auras, too, clouds like translucent halos that encircled their bodies, each with a unique shade of every color Ginny had laid eyes on, and then some. But those auras weren't as strong; if she didn't sharpen her focus, they could just as well have been a cast of the light. The eight others who'd been with her—well, the seven that she could see at their respective tables in the Great Hall—they were the ones with the vivid cloaks of effervescent silver, rosy dawn, icy blue-gray. Harry's was green, the exact shade of his eyes, shot through with lines of gold. It was weird, how unexpected the colors were—

Ginny stopped that line of thought. She did _not_ want to analyze this. She did not want to even _acknowledge_ this. Hopefully, she could break the curse before any of this started to have meaning beyond, "Oh, that's strange."

The Slytherins were her last three targets for her reminding spree. She supposed Draco might remember the meeting, and she knew Pansy did, but she had to make sure they were all agreed on time and place. Steeling herself, she crossed the Great Hall to where they were sitting in a lopsided cluster, Blaise and Draco huddled away from Pansy, looking cross.

"Prefect meeting tonight at eight," Ginny said by way of a greeting. "Head Common Room."

"Right," said Pansy, standing up. "I guess I'll see you then." She sauntered away.

"What's up with her?" Ginny asked, not really meaning to say it aloud.

Blaise made a harrumphing sound. "Damned if I know. She's been acting really _cheery_ about this whole thing. Makes me just want to—" He jabbed his fork in the air with a violent motion.

Draco, on the other hand, said nothing. He watched Pansy leave before turning his usual blank expression on Ginny, who jumped, because she'd been staring at him with narrowed eyes, trying to find out where the light from the magicked ceiling ended (a pale blue today, patterned with stripes and tufts of cloud) and his cold bluish aura began. It was barely visible, she thought, just a few centimeters around his skin—

"What's the matter, Weasley, never seen silk robes before?" His lip twisted. "Maybe if you ask nice I'll let you touch them."

Blaise looked as surprised as Ginny felt. Fortunately for her, she was able to hide it better than the dark-skinned Slytherin at Draco's side. She'd been hiding her reactions to Malfoy's insults for a long time, after all. It added up to many years of practice.

"Glad to see you're feeling back to normal," she said, her voice cold. "As big a git as ever." Even as she felt a pooling dislike and, beneath it, the pang of wounded expectations, Ginny knew her words were a lie. He didn't look normal; he looked worse than ever. His shoulders, square and bony, might have even been trembling. She tried very hard not to care. Turning to Blaise, she said, "See you tonight" and stalked away. So much for a growing sense of camaraderie.

(&)

"So . . . we're changing the order of rounds?" Sedanthe Baker's voice was a smidgeon louder than the crackling of the fire in the uncomfortably silent room. Obviously the Hufflepuff had picked up on the tense atmosphere the hovered over the group.

Well, part of the group, Dean mentally corrected. Ginny had turned her armchair in order to better avoid looking at the sofa, which was occupied by a brooding Draco, a smirking Pansy, and Blaise, who sat between the two, filling some kind of peacekeeping position (or trying to, anyway; he appeared to be failing utterly). What Dean couldn't quite understand was who was mad at whom. Ginny could be mad at either Draco or Pansy, or both, by the way she kept scowling in their general direction. Sometimes she covered her eyes with her hands as if she wished she could block them out of her memory altogether.

"Let's just keep it the same for now, shall we?" Luna said, a much belated reply to poor Sedanthe, who nodded.

"And the password to the Prefects' Bathroom, too?" asked Bardot.

For some reason, Pansy sniggered. Everyone turned to her. "What do _you_ think, Weasley?" she asked.

Ginny turned the full force of her glare on Pansy, who didn't appear worried in the least. "I think Mediterranean will serve," she said, grinding her teeth around the words. The tension in the room grew even higher than before, and Dean fought down a sudden urge to laugh. Was this all about the Prefects' Bathroom?

But before anyone could say anything else, there was a tapping sound from the bedrooms beyond. Dean saw the others glance around, curious—except, he noticed, for Ginny and Draco, who locked eyes as if drawn to each other by magnetic force. _Strange_ . . .

Ginny shot up from her armchair. "I'd say that settles things, right?"

"Yeah," said Draco, his first time speaking all evening. "Meeting adjourned."

"But—" Bardot looked helplessly between the two of them.

"We didn't even talk about Quidd—"

"He said the meeting was adjourned." Ginny's voice was stern, but not unkind. She started ushering everyone out of the tapestry door. "Please write an agenda for next time if you have specific items you wish to discuss."

Dean and Luna hovered back, filing out last so they could force their identical curious glances on Ginny. She merely waved them out like all the others. "See you tomorrow," she said in a distracted tone when Dean opened his mouth to ask what was going on.

And then she was shoving him out the door and into the hallway.

(&)

Draco had already rushed into his bedroom by the time Ginny had pushed Dean and Luna outside. He gave a triumphant shout as Ginny crossed the common room. Without stopping to think, she pushed into his bedroom and crossed to the window where he stood. His majestic owl sat on his shoulders, preening, while Draco unfolded Hermione's response.

"Lumos," said Ginny, pulling out her wand and holding it over Draco's shoulder so they could both read. She had to stand on her tiptoes to see.

_Draco,_

_ Thank you for the invitation. I accept. Ron would like to come too—_Ginny chuckled; she thought "like" was a very distant emotion from what Ron was really feeling in response to Draco's idea—_if he can Floo to work at Diagon Alley. Please respond with time and date to move in, and exact location. We will meet you there. _

_ Respectfully, _

_Hermione_

Draco made a derisive sound. "'Respectfully?' And you call the Malfoys old-fashioned."

Ginny shoved the wandlight in his face. He flinched back, shielding his eyes. "Do you think she would have written that if she didn't mean it?" Ginny asked him. "Honestly. It's probably the highest compliment she could give you, and it goes right over your stupid head." She lowered her wand to discover Draco glaring at her.

"Don't ever shove your wand in my face again, Weasley," he snarled. "As if I care about Granger's resp—"

"If you finish that sentence, I swear I will—"

Draco faked a frightened expression. "You'll what? Curse me?"

"—I'll throw away my wand and punch you," Ginny said. "Hard."

For a moment, he didn't move, didn't even breathe, but then he laughed. Ginny hovered between offended and relieved.

"Merlin, but I hope you're coming too," he said. "I'm going to need someone as batty as you around to lighten the mood."

Ginny blinked at him. He was still chuckling, apparently unaware that he'd just admitted to wanting her around. Gods, but he was so _frustrating_. One minute she wanted to squeeze him until he popped out of his slimy skin (well, it was actually quite nice skin, but that was beside the point); the other minute, he was being unexpectedly _good_. Such a person was bound to fascinate her. Also, she knew, deep down where her reasonable voice still survived, he was bound to hurt her. But she couldn't stop the smile from raising the edges of her lips. She couldn't stop the words from escaping her mouth: "Yes. I'm coming, too."

(&)

**A/N: ** Malfoy Manor, here we come! But might ~some people in Ginny's life have an objection to her dropping out of school for this? In fact, does Ginny herself even know if she's making the right decision? Haha, I guess we'll find out. Please review! :D


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